Resono
by sinvraal
Summary: Even across the span of light years, sympathetic particles sing in tune. Take one part KSM, one part LotSB; blend, season liberally, upend, bake and serve. Post-ME2, post-Exitus.
1. Fault Line

_Author's Note: While the events of this story are self-contained, the context, characterizations and references will be most familiar to those who've read the previous stories in the series, most especially 'Exitus'._

* * *

><p><strong>Fault Line<strong>

"You know what I'd love right now..."

A groan swept through the silence of the comm channel. Kaidan glanced up to see the mischievous grin evident under Stenham's visor.

"A stiff drink?" Even from her position on a ridge half a kilometer away, Wickham always seemed up for it.

Kaidan nudged the temperature setting on his armor up half a degree. A gentle warmth bloomed around his torso, spreading slowly as the resistive microweave lining his armor's undersuit reacted to the the flood of power. Sitting still for so long, he could feel the areas where the insulation of his armor was a little less effective. Bands around his upper arms, hands, and of course his ass, where the cold, rocky ground hungrily sapped away every joule of energy that bled through the weave. Armor built to withstand the coldest planetary surface, and yet he was still suppressing a shiver.

Stenham stretched his legs. "Naaah..."

Across from him, Kaidan could see Montrei's eyes moving under his visor, shifting from person to person as he sought to tease out the rules to this new game. Beside the corporal sat a trio of gun drones, their stabilizer vanes tucked up under square, snub-nosed cowlings.

"Nachos!" Tarasov's enthusiasm felt a little forced, but as always, he was trying.

"Eurgh."

"Oh, you suck. Mountains of melted cheese, man."

"And _tomatoes_."

"Cheap excuse. Back me up here, Chief."

If nothing else, Kaidan was grateful the Spectre wasn't in-channel with them.

"Bacon!"

"Only the maple-smoked kind," Kaidan blurted despite himself.

Stenham gave an approving grunt. Or perhaps he was satisfied that he'd succeeded in luring his recalcitrant commanding officer into one of his little games. With all the changes that had come to the job of soldiering since the dawn of human history, one trial remained constant throughout- waiting. The tense, exhausting wait for the enemy to show itself, for command to get their heads out of their asses, for the other team to get in position...

"What is this, amateur hour?" the corporal declared. "Naw, I was thinking... eggs Benedict. Swiss cheese, maybe spinach? Poached eggs, and of course, all covered in hollondaise sauce. With home fries and-"

Kaidan resisted the urge to gnaw on his tongue. In theory, he could put a stop to it, argue the extra cruelty of such an exchange around biotics, but they'd _all _been out here for hours, in the thin, chilly air of this unlovely rock. Sharing the pain was what the game was all about.

"There's a 24-hour place near my hometown that makes the best homefries!" Montrei said.

Looking at the younger marine, Kaidan guessed perhaps he was overly aware that he was not only an FNG but a replacement for someone who never made it back from a mission. He wanted to integrate himself as fast as possible into the squad's micro-culture.

As the banter went on, Kaidan's fingers tapped an imprecise pattern onto the armored plate of his thigh, to find the rhythm dancing around the edge of his thoughts. The memory of the tune he'd been listening to was a vague jumble now. A male singer, somewhat nasal, pacing through words that repeated themselves into a pattern over a tune and rhythm that teased the edge of atonal without crossing the line.

Before the song broke off with a digitized squeak that set his teeth on edge even in memory. Kaidan wasn't prone to the scourge of getting a song stuck in his head it under normal circumstances, but it wasn't the song that was stuck so much as the problem. A fragment wanting its other pieces. The data block he'd scanned from the broken datapad was full of obstinate little puzzles like it. With so many real and grave threats lurking in his head, somehow the riot of confounding, engaging little problems contained on that fractured drive kept luring him back in.

Perhaps because with enough effort, each could be _solved_.

* * *

><p>trans: op intercept

log start

12:23:56; OriginalFarlor: You there?  
>12:24:47: 4lagarn: sry big mobbo<br>12:25:04; OriginalFarlor: Wonderful, I'm paying realtime to listen to you play with your toes.  
>12:25:10: 4lagarn: technology!<br>12:25:26: 4lagarn: patience, magos  
>12:25:38: 4lagarn: little mice are runnin<br>12:26:57; 4lagarn: im farming GGO  
>12:27:09; OriginalFarlor: I can't believe you're still playing.<br>12:27:21: 4lagarn: hey man dont dis  
>12:27:53: 4lagarn: we miss farls magic fingers ynow<br>12:28:19; OriginalFarlor: I don't miss GGO, I can tell you that.  
>12:28:26; 4lagarn: wus<br>12:28:47; OriginalFarlor: You're still mad that I got an ReBSS before you, aren't you?  
>12:29:01: 4lagarn: lastsecond 14kp bid, i mean wtf<br>12:29:13: 4lagarn: i promise to resent you til the end of time  
>12:29:31; OriginalFarlor: That warms my heart.<br>12:29:49; OriginalFarlor: I promise to never let you forget it.  
>12:29:55; 4lagarn: dick<br>12:30:22: 4lagarn: dude, no wonder  
>12:30:29; OriginalFarlor: What?<br>12:30:56: 4lagarn: wth is wrong with you allies?  
>12:31:07: 4lagarn: using a codec from 33<br>12:31:21; OriginalFarlor: 33?  
>12:31:47: 4lagarn: dude this is a compression codec thats 25 years old<br>12:31:56: 4lagarn: thats why you cant find it  
>12:32:02: 4lagarn: bass ackwards allie tech<br>12:32:17; OriginalFarlor: What part of 'private archive retrieval' didn't you understand?  
>12:32:30: 4lagarn: fff<br>12:32:39; OriginalFarlor: The day I come to you with military archival issues is the day I hang up my spurs forever.  
>12:32:46; OriginalFarlor: You can give me *some* credit.<br>12:32:59: 4lagarn: not till you mail me a ReBSS  
>12:33:09: 4lagarn: heres the dump<br>12:33:15: 4lagarn: look that up  
>12:33:27: 4lagarn: maybe public domain hahaha<br>USER 4lagarn_7105BLOCKED /senddata -onupload  
>12:33:40; OriginalFarlor: Thanks. Much appreciated.<br>USER OriginalFarlor_2471_BLOCKED /rec  
>12:33:47; OriginalFarlor: I better LO.<br>12:34:06: 4lagarn: later jarhead  
>12:34:12; OriginalFarlor: A pleasure as always.<br>12:34:26: 4lagarn: liar  
>12:34:39: 4lagarn: take care yo<br>USER OriginalFarlor_2471_BLOCKED logged out  
>USER 4lagarn_7105BLOCKED logged out<p>

trans: opt /drop

log end

* * *

><p>"Contact."<p>

Stenham fell silent in mid-sentence. A small burst of adrenaline, mixed with a certain relief, shot through Kaidan's skull. _Finally._

"Marking targets," Wickham murmured from their distant perch. "Positive ident."

The two marines with Kaidan shifted their weight, rocking forward onto their feet. He squinted at the array of red dots as they appeared in his HUD, overlaid on the glowing map of the complex beneath their position. Four of them getting out of a transport hauler. With luck, their ticket inside. And the distraction the Spectre requested.

"How's your range?" Kaidan asked. He gestured to Montrei as he spoke, then turned and locked his HUD map to absolute positioning.

"Range is good. Sight lines clear." Amari said. By her tone, she was already intent on the feedback from her weapon.

A hum thrilled through Kaidan's mutant nerves as small dark energy fields bloomed behind him, accompanied by the gentle whine of servos.

"Drones are hot, front door targets entered." Montrei said.

"Wait," Amari said. "I've got non-coms."

Kaidan gritted his teeth. "What are we looking at?" A trio of green dots appeared, moving next to the red ones around the holographic bulk of the transport hauler.

"I think they're slaves," the sniper murmured. "I can see 'em. They've got wrist shackles."

Someone swore.

"This was supposed to be clean," Stenham muttered beside him, off-channel. "Hot targets only."

"They may not be jacked." Amari said.

"Or they might be. Click. Boom."

"Can we take the risk?" Odell growled.

"Commander," Wickham interjected, "I've been listening since we got here. No reciprocator callback signal on record cycles on longer than we've been sitting here. I would have heard it. No kill switch. If we hit carefully, they'll be safe enough."

Kaidan frowned at the green dots. _Good soldier, thinking about what I'm not._ Still, there could be more of them inside, more potential hostages. For a few seconds, he was back in the briefing room, listening to Captain Nasser enunciate every word of the importance of this insignificant mercenary band as a link in a much longer chain. A dozen times, the captain looked him in the eye and repeated the importance of this mission. The Spectre's mere presence was proof enough.

Past mere presence, though, Kaidan wasn't given much detail as to the Spectre's goals. He shouldn't have been surprised, nor let the frustration grate on him as it did. But even the word alone grated on him, as it had for two years. It was a stone in his shoe, forcibly reminded him of things he couldn't think about right now. Like a certain paranoid turian's infuriatingly short message, a military code word for 'all clear' and nothing more.

Kaidan pulled his pistol off his hip. "Montrei."

There should have been at least three squads on this mission. Not his lone squad split in half, and the unreliable promise of a lone wolf somewhere out there in the dark.

The private mirrored him, his omni-tool a pale glow. "In position, sir."

The drones, he reasoned, were at least better than the sluggish bipedal mechs that were flooding the security market. Drones were fast, made small targets, and had the advantage of flight. But the fact that Montrei, a drone ops specialist, had been pushed on Kaidan as a replacement squadmember struck him as an unsettling symptom of the Alliance's persistent troop shortages.

At least they'd yet to suggest giving him LOKIs.

He quirked a bitter smirk in the privacy of his lowered helmet. Spectres... Spectres were trouble. "Go drones. Amari, take your shot."

Kaidan gestured to the marines with him, then jumped to his feet and thudded down the incline toward the opposite entrance, urging his stiff legs into action. The drones arrowed over his head, homing in their assigned target. The front entrance of the complex came into view just as gunfire exploded from his right. A red-armored mercenary was running away from the door, intent on the drones. A burst from Stenham's assault rifle took the mercenary's feet out from under him, slashing his kinetic barrier to ribbons. Kaidan's pistol barked three times, stilling the man's floundering. There was a second armored body lying in heap a few feet away.

Kaidan jogged up to the large door, scanning the surroundings. "Montrei. Status."

"Drone Beta down. Port stabilizer's shot."

_It did its job._ "Leave it for now."

"... Aye, sir." The private sounded no more happy about the order than if he'd been asked to leave a fellow marine behind. The remaining drones swooped in wide and low, skimming the ground to return to their operator's side like loyal, spindly hounds.

"Odell?"

There was a pause. "Loading bay clear, Commander." The ops chief sounded winded from their own run down from the ridge. "Non-coms shouldn't be a problem."

"We need that code."

"Wickham's on it."

A tense thirty seconds passed before HUD flickered a reception signal at him. He lifted his omni-tool and fed the passcode into the door pad. The holo flipped to an obliging green and the door cycled open.

Kaidan tapped his tool. "CBO protocol." The comm channel beeped and clicked off, shutting down their network connection. Despite the encryption of their channel, the noise of it could be picked up by monitoring equipment in the base.

Not that he expected the surprise to last long.

The portal opened into an antechamber packed with unarmored pressure suits and haphazard pieces of equipment. Near the ceiling, a bank of heating elements glowed a sullen red. The three of them crossed the room, drones humming along in tow, into the corridor beyond.

As they advanced, heading for the junction, a strange pressure crept into Kaidan's skull. He raised his hand to signal his marines forward to sweep the junction for enemy contacts when the sensation became one of alarm. His arm snapped rigid to squad halt. There was a surprised clatter of armored boots behind him as he stared hard at the innocent-looking metal-plated floor.

He loaded a comm burst. "Tarasov," he murmured. "Keep your head open. They've got a crush plate out here." The communication compacted itself and fired in a nanosecond, much less detectable than an open channel.

Stenham exhaled through his teeth. "A crush-plate? Damn, expensive furniture for a merc band-"

"We're stuck here unless we shut that thing down," Kaidan said, touching his omni-tool. "Montrei, scan for power conduits. Stenham, cover the corridor. Don't walk here."

A red overlay bloomed in his HUD map, covering the junction ahead of him. For good measure, Kaidan spread the warning a little further than he guessed the dark energy field stretched. A brief green flash from his comm band indicated an acknowledgement signal from the young biotic.

"How did..." Montrei trailed off, glancing at his CO.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kaidan saw Stenham tap the middle of his visor. "Nose for gravity, see. What do you figure it's putting out, Commander?" The corporal's tone was conversational as he leveled his rifle down the corridor.

Kaidan examined his omni-tool as it ran through several wavelengths. "I'm guessing lethal." Enough, he supposed, to suffocate the unfortunate intruder under his own body weight.

"Shee-it. Hope the Spectre's paying attention."

"She'll be fine." During the pre-drop briefing, Kaidan hadn't failed to note the amp fitted into her armor's back collar.

Stenham drummed his fingers against his rifle grip. "Daylight's burning, Montrei."

The private swept his omni-tool back, teeth bared in a flash of frustration. "Well gee, I'm sorry they didn't install a cutoff switch on-"

"Hell," Stenham muttered. His assault rifle roared to life.

Kaidan spun around to see a group of armored mercenaries across the junction. Surprise painted their faces for only a moment before their arms shot for their own weapons. The drones bobbed up toward the ceiling, firing over the squad's heads and weaving evasive figure-eights. Returning fire with his heavy pistol, Kaidan pressed himself against the wall. The tracerless rounds seemed to vanish into the hallway. Even as he tracked a merc dodging into cover, something in his head registered that their opponents seemed to be aiming far too high.

"I'm hitting air!" Stenham said between his teeth.

In a flash, Kaidan understood. The mercs' targeting systems were calibrated to compensate for the steep yaw in gravity well in the middle of the corridor. Without more accurate numbers on the field output, his team couldn't match them. Unless he changed the fight's parameters _now_, they would have to retreat.

"Montrei!" he snapped, pushing a charged tech grenade into his weapon rail.

The private was huddled in the shadow of a bulkhead. "Still working!"

Kaidan tried to force his voice to level as a line of sparks stitched along the floor, too close to his feet. "Your best guess, Private!"

A flash in his HUD showed glowing yellow lines, hazy, looping into the southern corridor. Kaidan drew two quick breaths, then gestured, forcing dark energy around himself and through the AEGIS pickups woven through his armor. The indistinct ripple of blue snapped into focus around him, shimmering plates of intense dampening field woven out of his own power output.

Learning to concentrate around and through the dampening fields was a just as much a trial as getting them ignited in the first place. Impacts made the AEGIS flash and sparkle as he jumped out into the corridor. Kaidan imagined the crush plate's field as a thundering waterfall. Stopping it was an impossibility, but deflecting it, just for a moment, would give him the opening he needed. He threw out his hand, sending a wave of dark energy forward. It crashed into the artificially generated gravity in a flare of blue distortion, knifing hard into the sheeting energy pattern.

Teeth bared against the strain, he hardly noticed the thud of the grenade leaving his pistol. He saw the spark of it rebounding into the left-hand corridor. The gunfire from beyond the junction wavered, there was a startled shout, followed by a sharp electrical crack.

The gravity in front of him cut out with a billowing wobble that made him stumble. Using the sudden momentum, Kaidan swept his dark energy out and ahead as he lurched forward. Abruptly free from the conflict with the crush-plate, his field exploded down the hall, rolling off the walls and blowing two pirates off their feet. His heart climbed into his throat as his feet propelled him across the nondescript section of floor that moments before had been putting out enough gravity to break his legs.

Against the knot of expectation in his stomach, Kaidan didn't fall flat on his face. A figure flashed to his right. He snapped his pistol out and fired into it, catching the surprised merc in the torso with two rounds, driving him back. Even as he dodged into the corridor to his left, he could hear the choked, high-pitch whine of the nearby capacitors recovering their lost charge. Gunfire chattered along the walls and slammed into his hardened shields.

Shouting. His helmet pickups dimmed the worst of a thunderous boom as a grenade detonated in the junction. Theirs or the pirates', he couldn't tell, but a flare of heated shrapnel lit up his peripheral vision as he rolled into the meager cover of a projecting bulkhead.

In the mayhem, he still felt it- the surge of the re-awakening element zero core, so close it felt like a fist closing around his brain. He whirled toward the sensation and fired into it, his pistol bucking in his hand until the heat clip overcharged and hissed.

For a breathless moment, he stared at the half-dozen thumb-sized holes in the wall plating, convinced he'd wasted the effort and left himself trapped on the wrong side of the crush-plate with several angry, armed mercenaries. Pounding footsteps bore down on him, rounds spewing from assault rifles. Kaidan had time to raise his arm to protect his face when he felt the nearby dark energy field spasm. It exploded outward, tearing the weakened bulkhead away and straight into the hapless mercs in a convulsion of gravitic forces.

Kaidan popped the glowing heat clip and staggered to his feet, fighting to re-orient himself as the shifting dark energy fields faded away. His pulse pounded in his ears. The holes he'd made with his pistol had become a large rent spewing sparks and smoke into the corridor.

"Nice one, Commander!" Stenham called.

Kaidan turned to see the corporal standing at the junction, a grin on his broad face.

"Don't get used to it," the commander shot back.

"Next time, bring a shotgun!"

"Let's move," Kaidan said through a clenched jaw._ Damn it, I spent a year - more! - working on not being bothered by every little reminder._

"Commander!" The comm channel sprang to life with Odell's voice. "We've engaged in the main warehouse!"

There was no further sense in keeping to the burst protocol. "We're closing on your position, Chief," Kaidan called back, increasing his pace.

"Watch it!" Amari barked. "LVMRs!"

_We had to after an arms dealer- _Kaidan broke into a run, pounding down the corridor with the other marines on his heels. His HUD lead him unerringly, passing some kind of kitchen to a large open door. Dots floated in his vision as he burst through. His own team marked in green, and red dots appearing as they were scanned and logged as hostile targets by their CICVI. Eschewing a launcher, Stenham heaved a grenade overhand. It sailed in an arc over the stacked crates, heading for the red.

A humanoid form flashed in Kaidan's vision. His HUD said it wasn't one of his team. The instinct pushed, and pushed hard- cover. But his nerves sang in harmony with the AEGIS pickups, goading him. It bestowed on him a few more seconds than most.

The drones whined over his shoulder, skating on their invisible rails, spewing covering fire.

_What would you do with a few extra seconds?_

Kaidan's shield flashed and the merc died quickly, neck broken. The focused strike, once so reactive, came easily now. Exertion burned through his lungs. A cleansing feeling that wiped away the noise.

_Tension on the fault line-_

Noise. Gunfire. An explosion sounded far too close, and a fist-sized hole appeared in the thick metal crate a meter away. A warning light flickered in Kaidan's HUD. Odell's armor had sustained damage, but his vitals were stable. Too close. Another explosion. He stumbled.

Cover was becoming meaningless. Soon, it would all be full of holes. "Amari, shut that thing up!" he shouted into his comms.

"I've got no LOS!" the sniper called back.

Kaidan risked a peek around his hiding place. Several large, twisted holes adorned the walls. He opened his mouth to shout to Montrei when the door at the back of the warehouse cycled open. He caught a flash of gunmetal armor, and gunfire and shouts erupted behind their enemy's lines.

"But I think our problem just got solved," Amari quipped.

The fight went out of the mercs after that. One of them spiralled into the air, wreathed in blue, easy prey for the sniper. The sounds that echoed around the warehouse spoke of the sudden confusion as the Spectre made short work of the holdouts. Kaidan's team dispatched those that fled her wrath.

Several tense seconds of silence passed. Kaidan's comm channel clicked, and the Spectre spoke. "The way is clear."

"The living quarters-"

"Are clear."

Kaidan exhaled. "Odell?"

"Fine," came the sullen reply.

"Regroup."

Kaidan pushed himself up and made his way to the center of the warehouse. His squad emerged one by one from their places. Amari still had her sniper rifle held close to her body as if she expected the crates to unfold into new threats. Odell held his arm clasped firmly against himself, his face drawn down into a scowl dark enough to flay the ablating off a Grizzly. His arm was speckled with blackened divots, and a large section of his shoulder plate was missing. Kaidan nodded to each in turn.

Montrei was drawn to the crates that stood open, and he peered in with evident interest.

"Are the slaves okay?' Wickham asked.

"Indentured servants," the Spectre said, emerging from the rear, "lately from Illium." A flick of mandibles from beneath her visor perhaps betrayed what little she thought of the practice. She glanced at her omni-tool, which shifted with activity. "My intrusion programs are working on their network even now. We will soon have the information we came for."

"Not looking forward to too many mercs getting their hands on this kind of weapon," Montrei said, waving toward the crates.

"Someone _else_ was here," the Spectre's voice purred close to Kaidan, tilting in speculation. Her armored boots made surprisingly little sound as she paced past him.

Stenham plucked a finger-sized bullet from the crate and examined it, his lip lifting skeptically. "This isn't a standard slug. How do you fire a round that size without taking your arm off?"

"Low muzzle velocity, that's how," Montrei said.

"Or perhaps," the Spectre continued, ignoring the human marines as her eyes traveled the length of the room, "that someone is still here..."

Montrei gestured. "It's not trying to get through your shield. There's an internal gyro. As soon as it senses the the slowdown caused by a kinetic barrier, it blows." He pointed to the tip. "Self-propelled armor-piercing shaped charge exits the casing at point-blank range... probably past your shield."

The corporal's eyebrows went up. "Nasty piece of work."

"Luckily for us, it's a fucking expensive piece of work." Montrei twisted his SMG around in his hand and tapped the ammo slug casing. "I could put a banana in there and expect at least a little stopping power. But once you run out of LVMR rounds, it's just an ugly piece of ballast."

"What's this clown's name again? Heck?"

"Hock."

Stenham laughed. "Not much better!"

"Donovan Hock," the Spectre said, half to herself as she touched one of the LVMR launchers.

"Commander." Wickham was fiddling with her ever-present omni-tool. "I'm getting some strange readings."

"Yes... still here," Spectre Krannas murmured.

Kaidan turned slightly away from the turian's looming presence. "What kind of readings?"

"Something funny in the EM band. Trace heat. There's movement in here that isn't us."

"I suppose I've worn out my welcome."

Kaidan snapped his around to face the new voice as he hand went to his pistol. A cascading shimmer emerged from behind the crates. It coalesced into a feminine shape as the stealth field slithered back across a network of tiny emitter nodes packed far more tightly than Kaidan had ever seen. A small fortune of scattering technology wrapped around hands raised in a peacemaker gesture.

"Commander, is it?" the woman asked, facing him. Her eyes glinted from under the shadows of a deep hood. "I would like to surrender myself to your custody."

Perhaps it was the lingering adrenaline of the fight, but it was one of those moments when everything around Kaidan seemed crystal clear. The subtle stress the strange woman placed on the word 'your', even as the smallest of knowing smiles played around her lips. The quiet hiss from the turian. In the gap of stunned silence that followed, the words of the song that had been dogging Kaidan finally popped into his head.

_Tension on the fault line lighting fires on my horizon_


	2. In Isolation

**In Isolation**

"Great, another one."

The voice came from ahead of Jacob as he rounded the corner. He kept his head down, watching where he put his feet on the uneven floor and criss-crossing power cables. Shepard's armored boots came into view, drawing his eyes up to a light coming from across the vaulted cavern. The sight stopped him dead in his tracks. A massive sphere of reflective silver hung at the end of the cavern, seemingly unsupported. There was an unnatural stillness in the air, broken only by the beep of the Vakarian's omni-tool.

"'Another one'? You've seen one of these before?" Jacob queried, fingering his shotgun.

Shepard tapped the muzzle of her SMG against her thigh. "A Prothean artifact. But the last one was... smaller."

Jacob eyed the back of the commander's helmet. Some researchers spent their lives sifting through sand on hundreds of worlds looking for evidence of the galaxy's previous inhabitants. On their way down, they'd passed the remains of this ill-fated expedition- scattered corpses and increasingly desperate-sounding journal entries. Thousands of credits and even lives had been spent here. And yet Shepard's reaction to the two-story silver sphere was one of pained irritation, as if she'd discovered she was missing a mate to a favorite pair of socks.

"Well, we knew they'd found _something_," Vakarian said.

"I suppose it was too much to hope they'd found a decorative Prothean cheese knife."

"Maybe the geth just want this as a centerpiece for Thanksgiving dinner," Jacob said.

Shepard flashed him a smirk, an expression that seemed plastered on. "Wouldn't you?" She turned and started walking across the rock bridge toward the circular plinth.

To Jacob's surprise, Vakarian jumped forward and stopped her with a forceful hand on her arm. "You don't have to do this," he said.

The commander stopped, and her shoulders drooped. "I have the best chance of surviving it in one piece."

"Wait, what?" Jacob interjected, hurrying up beside them. "What do you mean, _surviving_?"

"But what if it makes..." The turian's blank-faced helmet twitched toward Jacob. "..._things_ worse?"

"Haven't you heard the line?" Shepard's voice cracked with thick sarcasm. "Sleep is for the dead."

"Mind cluing me in, Commander?" Jacob asked. The stillness was starting to grate on his already raw nerves. "Just what are you planning on doing?"

Vakarian waved at the sphere. "These artifacts always do... something to whoever activates them. Try to download something into your head."

"But I've got the Cipher," Shepard said.

"The Prothean language code?" Jacob guessed. He dimly recalled Miranda lecturing him about how it was one of the major things that made Shepard so valuable. No other human held this so-called Cipher, and the original source was gone. Lazarus station seemed like a long time ago now, another life.

"It's a lot more than that, I think." She shrugged, weapon loose in her grip. "But it keeps my brain from being fried."

"You don't _have_ to activate it," Vakarian insisted.

Her eyes stayed rooted on the artifact. "What if it's got important information stored on it? About the Reapers? An advance in element zero technology? The geth obviously wanted it for something."

"The Cipher doesn't protect you completely, Shepard."

Jacob glanced from the turian back to her.

"I have to."

Vakarian wagged his head. "No, you don't."

A frustrating, uncomfortable weight lurked just outside Jacob's understanding. "Commander, we have the Hammerhead, and we eliminated the geth. I'm sure some scientist somewhere would die happy for the chance to get at this sphere and do whatever they want to it. And they can take their time. We can get back to the _Normandy_, forward the info to someone and get on with our mission."

"The lead researcher was starting to suffer some kind of indoctrination effect. We have to assume this thing is important to the Reapers somehow. If they care about it, I have to care about it. This _is_ the mission."

"Commander-"

"Look, I don't _want_ that thing anywhere near my head, okay?" she snapped. He eyes flashed and she caught his gaze and held it. "I didn't want the last one, or the one on Eden Prime, or the Overlord, or the fucking ardat-yakshi! Any of them! But any means necessary, right? Isn't that the Cerberus rule?"

Heat flashed in Jacob's head. Several angry retorts bunched up in his throat, but she didn't give him the chance to sort them out before she turned and marched down the stone path. He forced the sudden anger to unfurl itself in silence, gripping his shotgun hard.

"I wish Legion could tell us what the heretics were doing out here," Vakarian said as he trailed along after her.

"They said this group was operating in isolation," Shepard replied in a tight voice. "Hadn't plugged back into the collective yet."

Coming up behind them, Jacob slowed and stopped, staring up at the silvery horizon arching away from him. "So, I suppose it's normal that it's reflecting the room, but not us?"

Silence fell. But it wasn't total- there was a faint hum that came from everywhere and nowhere. He found he couldn't tell if it was an actual sound or some kind of vibration in the local gravity. He squinted at the artifact- something was holding it up, but he couldn't feel anything like he felt he should have for its size.

Shepard touched the sphere.

A ripple crashed over the surface like a wave. A sudden crushing weight wrapped itself around Jacob's head, making his vision tunnel and sucking the strength out of his legs. He stumbled, throwing an arm over his eyes. There was no sound, and yet a rushing roar filled the air, humming along his mutant nerves. He lowered his arm to squint over it. The sphere shuddered and then contracted, impossibly swallowing its own size until it was no larger than his head.

For a moment, it froze and held in the air, as if time itself had stopped. Then it dropped straight down and landed on the flagstones with a sonorous clang and sat there like it had never moved. The silence was sudden and deep as the bell-like echoes died away. The hum in Jacob's head was gone.

"That was... different," Shepard commented. Jacob turned to see her straightening, unhurt.

Vakarian muttered some acerbic oath that skittered past Jacob's translator.

"Commander," EDI's voice cut into the comm channel, making all three of them start. "I just detected a sizable energy surge originating at your location. It appears to have been modulated. I hypothesize it was a data burst of considerable density."

Shepard flicked a finger across the brow plate of her helmet. "Pa-ting," she murmured, "right off the top."

Jacob stared at her, incredulous, searching for something to say. Instead he keyed the ship comm. "Did you catch any of it, EDI?"

"I was able to record only a small portion, but given the density, it could represent a considerable amount of information once decrypted."

Shepard walked over to the now-small sphere, crouched, and tapped it. It pulsed a single burst of the same non-sound it had been making before, then popped up a few centimeters off the ground and hovered there, benign as a table lamp.

"What were you saying about a centerpiece?"

* * *

><p>Jacob checked the time. Five minutes until the meeting Miranda had called. He'd been in the forward battery half an hour now, double-checking the power linkup to the ventral kinetic barriers. A nameless tension corded the muscles of his neck. He was being redundant, and he knew it. The same numbers flashed at him for the third time. He snapped the panel back in place and turned to go. There was still too much to do.<p>

As the battery door cycled shut behind him, he stopped, his breath hitching in his throat. Someone had moved the rows of sleeper pods on their hinged arms. They had been lowered, leaning inward. The orange-tinted cowlings peering down at him seemed... awfully familiar.

He blinked and stared hard, gritting his teeth. "They didn't move," he muttered out loud. Squaring his shoulders, he marched down the corridor, rooting his eyes on the floor. The deck plates were scraped and scored by heavy, clawed toes.

_The coffin lid is closing. Can't move, can't-_

The end of the hallway opened explosively, spreading wide into the empty mess hall. The bulkhead lines were broken by swirling, burnt contrails; the table had been forced back into shape but was still warped, sitting uneven. For a heady moment, the horizon line seemed to list off to the left, making him stumble on the stairs. Dark energy static buzzed across his arms, prickling his skin. He realized his hands were shaking. Jacob locked his arms down at his sides, flexing them rigid. The memory of the hard round of push-ups he'd done yesterday lurked in the muscle fibers, a sensation he'd come to associate with a certain satisfaction. But it was little comfort now. "Pull yourself together, Taylor," he muttered through his teeth.

He walked across the mess and around the bulkhead to the bathroom. The door hissed shut behind him, and he stopped for a moment to breathe deeply. Then he went to the sink and let the cool water run over his hands and splashed his face. In the mirror, the sterile, clean lines of the undamaged bathroom seemed to stabilize the world. After a minute, the whole incident started to feel surreal, even silly.

"Think you need some sleep," he informed his dripping reflection.

He swiped the water away, running a hand over his closely cropped hair. His back still felt tight, but his heart had calmed its panicked flutter. He walked back out into the hallway, turned the corner into the mess, and nearly walked right into Crewman Rolston. The man startled, then stammered out a quick greeting. For a moment, it seemed like he would say something else, but instead he dropped his eyes and hurried away to the general quarters.

Jacob watched him go, then shook his head. The power management operator would be one of the ones leaving once they docked on Illium. They weren't supposed to talk about it, but the tension had been building steadily on the long cruise from the relay. The mutterings among the crew were hard to ignore- sides were quietly being taken, each treating the other with mounting suspicion. The halls echoed with tense, whispered arguments. Many remained loyal, but several pled fears for their families and careers if they stayed on. A few more remained undecided, at least outwardly. Jacob wondered if there would be a few more empty bunks than expected when they left port. After the Collector abduction, he knew he wasn't the only one having some trouble closing his eyes at night. The _Normandy_ wasn't the invisible, impregnable fortress anymore, and the scars of its violation were still scrawled all over the walls.

All they'd accomplished, and it felt like a funeral cruise. Shepard barely left her cabin. They should have been celebrating, cheering the sheer unlikelihood of their continued survival. They'd done the impossible. And yet, back on the other side of the Omega-4 relay, nothing had changed. Omega Station still orbited as it always had, a gangrenous shadow of the Citadel. Out there in the black, all the exact same problems raged and consumed each other, crushing millions of lives between their jaws. And beyond it all, out past all the petty struggles of organic beings, the Reapers were still coming.

The elevator door opened and Vakarian stepped out.

"Vakarian," Jacob greeted him. "Wanted to ask about the CBT tuning you've been doing."

The turian nodded. "I think I might have saved us at least three percent on startup, I still need to get Tali's input on my variance install. But... we have a meeting to get to." He gestured toward Miranda's office door.

The main conference room upstairs was still a mess. Repairs had been deemed lower priority, and Jacob suspected Shepard was in no hurry to step back into the holo-scanner that had once been her main communication link with the Illusive Man.

"Something's up," Jacob suggested.

Vakarian nodded his agreement. He was hard to read sometimes, but it seemed his loyalty to Shepard could be relied on. The combination of a soldier's discipline and a survivor's pragmatism meant that even after a lifetime focused on human and Alliance concerns, Jacob got along far better with Vakarian than he ever thought he would with a turian.

Shepard was already there when they arrived, standing by the door with her arms folded. The small room stank of a battle that had yet to break out. Miranda was stressed. She'd looked like this when the first diagnostics came back on Shepard's body- the tightness of uncertainty lurking around her eyes. She was hiding it well, like she always did. But her words were just a little bit more clipped, her voice a little louder than usual. Jacob doubted anyone noticed, except maybe Shepard. But right now, it seemed to him the commander's gaze was fixed on some vague spot on the far wall. Just as tired as the rest of the crew, he assumed.

"Hull integrity is stable," Miranda was saying, "but the cargo bay remains a critical weak point. Several plates of ablating still need replacement, and the Kodiak needs major body work and replacement of nearly the entire forward instrument panel. We should be able to get many of the necessary parts on Illium, and without too many questions asked. But we have one outstanding problem."

"Money," Shepard said.

Miranda nodded. "I'll concede the Hammerhead could be an asset to future operations, but we spent a great deal of fuel acquiring it. We have to decide what we're going to do about crew salaries, Shepard. Those that are staying, anyway."

"Wait, we get paid for this?" Vakarian asked mildly. "Why wasn't I told?"

Miranda ignored him. "We can't expect them to simply work pro bono. We already have serious morale issues to address without cutting everyone's pay."

Shepard rubbed her temple. "Can we sell any of our mineral stores?"

"We can, but don't expect much for them. Commodity prices on Illium aren't favorable- they're well-supplied by local trade routes, and pirates as well. I believe we're better served keeping the ore for our fabricators. There's still a lot of repair work to do. Regardless, it's not a long-term solution."

Miranda tipped the datapad on her desk up. "There's been a new development. I have information here regarding the Shadow Broker. Information that stands a chance of leading us to the center of the Broker's operations."

In the surprised silence, the turian caught Jacob's eye for a fleeting moment.

"It came from him, didn't it?" Shepard said.

Miranda pursed her lips together as the question hung in the air. "Yes. But I didn't contact him; the information arrived in one of my secure mail accounts."

Shepard made a soft exhalation an awful lot like a growl, a sound that echoed the sudden sour feeling in Jacob's gut. "I'm not doing the Illusive Man any more favors."

"Shepard, finding and possibly eliminating the Shadow Broker would be an enormous gain for humanity, even the Council races. Think of the kind of information this could uncover!" Enthusiasm cracked out from under Miranda's controlled tone. In Jacob's experience, she treated information as a wealth greater even than credits, and the Shadow Broker was sure to be sitting on a stockpile to beggar her considerable imagination.

"Isn't it just a little bit convenient that this... unprecedented piece of information surfaces now?"

"Of course it is." Shoulders straight, Miranda seemed immune to the commander's suspicion. "I'm not naive. But there's too much potential here to just dismiss it out of hand. Alone, it might not be enough to convince me, but Doctor T'soni should be able to make much more of this lead. Between us, we might actually have a chance where others have failed."

"What if it's another one of the Illusive Man's traps?" the turian said.

"That's a possibility, yes. But he also has plenty of incentive to want the Shadow Broker gone."

"Can we risk that right now?"

"We weathered the Collector ship raid well enough. And came away with invaluable information. Nothing is without risk."

"No." Shepard straightened. "I'm not the Illusive Man's little toy. I won't be jerked around every time he decides to yank my strings."

"Shepard," Vakarian said, "didn't Liara-"

"No!" she snapped. "Lawson, you can send the Illusive Man detailed instructions on just how and where he can cram his 'intel'. And don't skimp on the language. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of problems to solve." She turned and swept out the door without another word.

Miranda folded her arms, her eyes flicking to the turian then back to the door. "She's being irrational."

Jacob expected Vakarian to say something, but he remained silent, staring at the datapad on Miranda's desk. The armory officer shifted his weight. "Don't think she sees it that way."

The irritated glance lingered a moment longer than usual before returning to the cool mask. "Whether she likes it or not, many of our goals still coincide with those of Cerberus," Miranda said. "Shepard can hate the Illusive Man all she likes, but he'll find a way to benefit from our actions."

"Unless we take him out," Vakarian said.

"Impossible."

"You may have noticed that word doesn't carry a lot of weight around here."

She stared him down for a long few seconds before replying, "We have no information on his whereabouts."

He head pushed forward just a little, his teeth glinting under his mandibles. "That seems hard to believe, somehow."

Miranda didn't give the alien an inch. "Whatever I knew is long since obsolete. He moved his main operations a long time ago, and most certainly after I... resigned. Whereas we _do_ have a substantive lead on the Shadow Broker. A lead which more than likely has an expiration date."

Vakarian held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Miranda blinked. "What?"

"We'll be arriving on Illium soon. Liara knows me. I'll take it to her."

"Shepard-"

"One thing at a time." Vakarian gestured, spreading his hand expectantly.

Miranda's eyes narrowed, and Jacob could almost hear the numbers and probabilities buzzing in her mind. Finally, she handed him the datapad. Vakarian took it and transferred the files to his omni-tool, then turned and left with a nod of acknowledgement.

"You'd better go along with him, Jacob," Miranda said once the door had closed.

Jacob folded his arms. "To keep an eye on him?"

"To keep an eye on my intel."

"You're still treating them like they need to be manipulated, Miranda. We should be past that."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "Tell that to Shepard!"

"Shepard's got every right to look this gift horse in the mouth if you ask me. Nothing is ever free, not from him."

"Don't you think I know that?" She tossed her head. "I'm doing what I've always done, Jacob. I'm trying to keep this ship together while she charges around chasing her personal crusades! We did _not_ have fuel reserves for that trip to Kopis! But she decided it was a viable target, all because the _AI_ was the one that intercepted the location! And now we're headed back to Illium, and I have to perform a few miracles just to make sure we'll be able to leave!"

She exhaled, controlling the rare outburst with effort. "We don't have many places to turn. The Citadel barely tolerates us, so long as we stay far away. There are standing demands for our capture and interrogation from the Alliance, and we both know those are tantamount to arrest warrants. The Shadow Broker's files would give us leverage; it would make all of them sit up and listen. Even the Illusive Man."

He couldn't argue with the practicality of her words. Despite his suspicions of the Illusive Man, Jacob knew Miranda wouldn't even have brought it up unless she thought the information had some merit. Her pride wouldn't let her.

"All right, I'll back Vakarian up," he said. "Check out your lead."

Mollified, she rounded her desk and sat down, smoothing her hair into place. She pleated her fingers together, once again the picture of efficiency. "Keep me informed."

Even if it wasn't stated aloud, Jacob heard the gratitude in her tone. All of the uncertainty was wearing on her too, and he wasn't unsympathetic. But she wouldn't want sympathy from him- that line in the sand had been drawn before the Lazarus project had even begun. In a crisis such as this, she wanted results, and that suited him fine. He nodded smartly and left the room.

Crossing to the elevator, Jacob made a point of not glancing to his left, down the hall to the rows of sleeper pods. He could guess where the turian had gone- the same place he would before planning a mission. He fidgeted from foot to foot in the elevator, uncomfortable in the feeling of going behind his commanding officer's back. He preferred everything up front, on the table, and he wasn't sure Vakarian would tell Shepard what he was doing.

Jacob's guess was justified when the armory door opened to reveal Vakarian leaned over the table, fitting the scope onto his sniper rifle. As Jacob rounded to his left, the turian glanced up. His targeting eyepiece was off, sitting next to his heavy pistol.

"What have you been taking apart?" Vakarian pointed to the other worktable closest to the far wall. Its entire surface was covered in parts of various sizes. Jacob knew without going over there that each piece was laid out with fastidious precision, sorted in someone unknowable but highly deliberate pattern.

"That's not me," Jacob said. "The geth's been in here for three days, fiddling with the geth weapons we recovered from Canalus. Can't figure out what it's trying to do; all those little pieces keep changing places. Like it's sorting them."

"Maybe it's bored. I should ask if it likes doing manifold calibrations."

There was a ping from across the tables, making Vakarian turn his head. An instant later, the CIC door cycled open and Legion strode into the room. The geth stopped and regarded them, the lens of its eye contracting.

"Our requested fabrication is completed," said the modulated voice, "but if our timing conflicts with Taylor-Armory-Officer's duties, we will postpone our work to a later time."

"We were just leaving," Vakarian said. He clipped his sniper rifle to his back and reached for his sidearm.

The eye focused on Jacob. With so little face to work with, it took him a second longer than usual to realize it was waiting for his permission to continue.

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Go ahead."

Those strange little head-flaps flickered, and without a word it skirted around them and went to the worktable. Tension crawled up Jacob's neck as it passed behind him. He still couldn't believe Shepard had woken it up, never mind given it permission to walk around the ship. For all the help it had given them, Eden Prime was still far too fresh a memory for Jacob to ever turn his back on that single glowing eye.

As Legion opened the fabricator, he turned back to the turian, pitching his voice low. "Just what are you up to, Vakarian?"

"Do you wonder why Shepard just refused to go after the Shadow Broker?" the turian replied in a soft burr, fitting a set of sinks into the pistol.

"Guess I do. Doesn't seem like her."

"And how would you know?"

Jacob frowned, taken aback by the hint of accusation underlying Vakarian' voice.

"You've never even met the real Shepard," the turian said. There was a loud click from the cowling of the gun as he snapped it into place. "You don't know what Lazarus failed to put back together. I'm trying to finish the job you couldn't."

"What are you talking about?"

Vakarian shook his head. "She's never been herself. Not once, since the SR-1 went down."

"Bringing someone back from the dead isn't easy."

"It wasn't enough." Vakarian pointed at Jacob's hands. "Imagine waking to find your life gone, shackled, and with a knife to your throat. And your enemies saying 'we're all you have, and millions will die if you don't work for us'. What kind of existence is that?"

"Cerberus was..." He almost said it. _Never her enemy._ The room seemed to grow colder. The tinny sound of the geth puttering with its collection of parts bounced off the walls. That statement just didn't hold up to recent evidence.

Vakarian reached for his eyepiece, and seemed to linger over it for a moment. "A mission alone doesn't sustain the spirit, Taylor." He slipped the device into place. Subtle indents in the plated skin of his head bore witness to how rarely he'd been without it. "There have to be foundations under the things we do."

Jacob had never been sure how to take the turian notion of spirits. The translation seemed inadequate, loaded with too much human baggage. The concept seemed at once more complex and quite a bit simpler than the human definition assumed. Either way, it was further muddying waters already made vague by Vakarian's allusions. "Saving a hell of a lot of lives isn't enough?" Jacob asked.

The turian stood and looked at him squarely, his mandibles flicking outward. "I don't think it is."

A pop and a hiss of sparks startled them both. At the far end of the room, a flickering light danced over the geth's smooth surfaces as it applied current to something. Wisps of dark smoke rose up before being whisked away by the room's ventilation. It reached out and selected another piece from the array on the table, engrossed in its work.

"What are you planning?" Jacob said, turning back.

"I'm going to try to help my _friend_."

"How?"

"I'm still working on that."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm in."

"Let's go, then."


	3. Ultra Block

**Ultra Block**

Did all turian ships smell like this? It wasn't that it was a strong smell, or even a notably bad one, but it was... _foreign_. It stuck with Kaidan for an hour or two after they re-boarded. Then it lingered out of sight, waiting for subtle shifts in the air to re-appear and reinforce its message of otherness. The Spectre's small ship was cramped, the angular interior a stark contrast to an asari or even human construction. He wondered who had been forced to vacate quarters to accommodate him, but tried not to search the turian crew for resentful glares.

Tucked into a corner of his tiny cabin, Kaidan toyed with his omni-tool, sorting data blocks, listening to small snatches of music as they decoded. The crux of the problem was that not everything was stored in discreet sections on the drive. A significant number of files had been broken into fragmented packets scattered across the storage surface. He could retrieve large groups of songs easily, but others were in pieces, their mapping lost with the drive's core file system. And some of the data, that which had been stored at the site of the break itself, was simply gone. Devoured by the physical shattering of the densely layered drive plate, further fragmenting what might have once been whole files.

It was hardly first time in his career he'd been called on to rifle through someone else's files. Some biotics were content to let that alone be their job description, but Kaidan had never been comfortable with that. Technical work had always been an enjoyable escape into a realm of impersonal logic problems. He tried to approach Shepard's drive the way he'd done with pirate data- with a certain objective distance. The distance that had helped him pass over things like the pirates' rather disturbing prisoner logs or pornography collections in favor of their fueling information and scattered financial records.

The facade held, at least for a time. Just another archive reconstruction. Somehow, matching the puzzle pieces satisfied his unproductive urge to dwell on Shepard's whereabouts while keeping him focused on problems he could solve in the immediate. Most of all, it ate up the long wait of an FTL cruise. After a while, he discovered each song had an attached block of metadata stored at the end of the file. Mostly, it contained identifier information a player could read, as well as a codec tag. But then he looked up the tag ID for a tiny fragment data- it was a playcount. The realization made him sit back in his uncomfortable chair. With a few commands, he could sort the entire database and see what songs had been played most often.

He rubbed an absent thumb across his damp palm. _That _felt like intrusion. But he could already feel the justifications stirring at the back of his mind, the sudden, intense curiosity trying to construct an edifice strong enough to overcome the hesitation. With a quick move, tapped the command to close the file folders, burying it deep behind layers of decryption and partition. His omni-tool display snapped off, plunging the room back into the dim blue light of the wall sconces.

Kaidan scrubbed his hand over his day-old growth of stubble. He'd argued with himself for some time about whether or not he should touch the files at all, but in the end, had decided to go ahead with trying to repair the archive. The music was just that, a collection. A little bit personal, but it wouldn't contain any dark secrets. If he'd judged Shepard's attachment to the drive correctly, the good of having it back should outweigh any potential negative.

So he hoped.

The majority of the tiny room was taken up by a nestlike cot set into the wall. A trunk under it housed his armor and a few supplies. With the ambient temperature the turians preferred, the room seemed stifling. He scrubbed his palms on his pants and scrambled to his feet. Something to eat, perhaps. A change of scenery, such as it was. He dug around in his trunk and pulled out a ration box, then slipped out the door.

As he emerged into the common area, he saw a wide-shouldered figure sitting at the small mess table. The Spectre had made only perfunctory introductions of the ships' crew, and Kaidan had managed to retain only a couple of the names thrown at him. He recognized this turian most notably by the piece of missing fringe on the right side of his head. As Kaidan entered, the turian looked up at him. There was a pause, then the alien made a gesture indicating the other chair that Kaidan interpreted as welcoming. He twisted the bottom of the ration box to start the chemical reaction that would heat the contents and lowered himself into the chair.

Seated, the turian still loomed over Kaidan, his dark clan markings nearly invisible on his ruddy face. He forked mouthfuls of something green and frilly into his toothy maw, pausing now and again to drink from a narrow-topped cup. When the cup was put back on the table, a woody smell wafted across the table. Kaidan peeled open his own meal.

"Was it a good fight?" Docked Fringe asked abruptly. "On the planet?"

"There was a lot of waiting."

"Always, this is." The turian made a soft hiss.

"The fight was short, as such things go." Kaidan pushed the unexciting contents of his pasta around. "It probably wasn't nearly as interesting as the one that cost you that..." He pointed to the turian's fringe.

The alien's mandibles tucked up. "That's a criminal mark."

Kaidan froze, and a chilly weight settled in his gut. "Ah... Oh, I thought... it was a battle wound..."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything then, let you believe what you believed."

As silence fell, Kaidan didn't have the faintest idea how to respond. Was his dinner companion being sarcastic, or self-effacing? Kaidan felt the weakness of his translator more than ever. It provided the language, but it felt like he was getting less than half the story. On a turian's rigid face, it was only the brow, front lips, and strangely, the nose that moved. Then there were the mandibles. For hundredth time, Kaidan had a sneaking suspicion he was missing a whole set of inflections, just because he couldn't read those subtle movements. It was like trying to hold a nuanced conversation with someone wearing a full-face mask.

"A story too long for this table," Docked Fringe intoned, "and not for this food." He leaned forward. "The truth is, sometimes I get so tired of the same thing every day, I'm tempted to try the levo stuff. Just for changing the paint."

Kaidan smirked, feeling a small measure of relief. "It isn't any better, I can tell you that. Military rations don't improve with chirality. 'Boring' is the main ingredient."

"You have served your Alliance a long time?"

"Half my life."

Docked Fringe grunted, head bobbing in something like a nod. Given what he knew about turian laws of military service, Kaidan wasn't sure if that was impressive or not.

"Long enough to have... appreciated the finer things." He gave another soft hiss. The turian rose, his chair scraping across the floor. "I must return to my duties. Avey, Enthor."

That word again. Kaidan's translator didn't alter it, nor offer any further explanation. Docked Fringe disposed of his leftovers and vanished through the bulkhead door, leaving Kaidan alone in the common area. The ship hummed around him, engines at FTL output.

Kaidan sat back, absently opening his omni-tool and entering a search as he chewed. How hard had Garrus been working to fit in with the human crew of the _Normandy_ and his human leader? The conversation they'd had in the Mako bay, about hierarchy and belonging, seemed far away now. The turians on this ship, secure among their kin, had no reason to try to act more human to accommodate him or his squad. Kaidan had browsed a few cultural documents in expectation of this mission, but an odd thought occurred to him. As a guest on their ship, would they in fact be expecting _him_ to act more turian? To fit in for them? He raked his fingers through his hair. As if he didn't have enough on his mind without having to worry about cultural faux pas.

His omni-tool beeped, returning his search query with a number of possible answers. Kaidan weeded through several before he found one that seemed to fit. _Enthor; 1) [Lavarth; Pharic Age] a person who is at the head of or in authority over others; chief; leader. 2) [Lavarth; contemporary] 1) an honorific denoting those possess biotic abilities; the member of a cabal._

He let his hand drop back down his neck, across the implant terminal and connector under his hair. Normally he would have taken it off to rest, but in this strange place, he felt better with it there. One of the last things he had in his possession from his time on the SR-1, it had ridden with him in the escape pod down to Alchera's frigid surface. So it was with him still. He sighed and let his hand drop. The psychologists spoke of letting go of the past, as much the physical objects as the emotions that wrapped them. And even if it hurt, Kaidan was practical enough to recognize the truth in that.

He'd tried. Several different amps from various manufacturers, all of whom claimed to have the latest technology. As the L3s gave way to the newer L4s and human-specific biotic research progressed, Kaidan knew he was... well behind the latest technology. He was an outdated prototype, trapped with an old hardware install that would become increasingly incompatible with new configurations as time wore on. Each new amp brought some kind of problem with it- power dropouts, static, or just what he needed, increased migraines. And in the end, it was the asari-made amp Shepard had presented to him back on the SR-1 that still worked the best. Old technology for an old implant. He smirked. _Thirty-five and already obsolete._

He remembered the image from the past with a certain lyrical clarity. The thick glass, white walls, a room never once infected with the oily, dusty presence of a human. And in the middle, the giant gleaming lens destined for a deep-space focusing array. He'd only half-listened to the technician explain how the nano-polishers could achieve tolerances so tiny the numbers didn't mean anything to Kaidan's adolescent brain. But while his brother muttered complaints of boredom, Kaidan had watched, enraptured, as a robotic arm had spit out a single fat drop of water onto the mirror surface. Unable to break surface tension, the water rolled into a bead that traveled in wide circle, skirting the circumference of the concave surface with the smoothness of a drop of mercury. A near-perfect circuit, it would spiral thus, he knew, as long as the infinitesimal decay of each orbit kept it aloft on its own frictionless momentum.

At that moment, what little he understood about gravity was made real. Element zero, the mass effect, and all the stupendous things it allowed seemed encapsulated in that tiny little bead planet, trapped in a dimple in the fabric of its universe, just as Earth itself, trapped, made the rounds of the massive dent Sol made in this corner of the galaxy.

Kaidan scraped the last of his meal into his mouth and got to his feet. How fun, how exciting his secret world had seemed for a while. He could reach out, reach out and _push_... and create his own tiny dimple in the fabric of the universe...

Then came Vyrnnus' introductory speech. "Gravity kills!" the turian had barked in the clipped half-roar that seemed to be his normal tone of voice. Then he proceeded to describe in lurid detail the price paid by a ship that failed to properly calculate planetary re-entry vectors, followed by the gruesome effects of a local field shear on unprotected structures. And organic beings.

So many years later, Kaidan tried not to brood on the irony of Shepard's expensive gift being plugged into his brain on a daily basis.

Restless still, Kaidan left the tiny mess hall and found the elevator. The ship was small, smaller even than the _Normandy_, made for speed and nimbleness. And yet, the configuration felt familiar, the command deck sporting the same mid-ship CIC station as the SR-1.

_I wonder if the new _Normandy-

He swatted the elevator call holo. The door opened and the low-ceilinged car bore him down to the cargo deck where his marines had been given a corner of the main bay to call home for this cruise. It was less than homey, but on a ship so small it seemed the only reasonable solution. A temporary one, if nothing else.

As he crossed the hallway to the cargo bay entrance, a familiar human voice spoke. "Come to check on the kids, sir?"

Kaidan turned to find Stenham coming up from behind, a small woolly towel draped around his shoulders.

"Everyone settling in all right?" Kaidan asked.

"Ain't no worse than bunking on some rock." The corporal shrugged. "Least they got shitters. And a shower."

"The important things in life, right?"

"Damn straight, Skip! A proper pot to sit on's something you appreciate after, you know, 'cyclers and such." Stenham grimaced.

"I guess I can't argue with that."

"Eh, the facilities aren't so bad, at least they keep it warm. I'm more worried about what Amari's gonna do if she has to listen to Odell bitch and moan about his shoulder all night."

"How's the damage to his gear?"

"Wick and Montrei have been tinkering with it. The ablating's a write-off, and I think they said the PA armature was damaged. But they're trying to get the kinetic emitters back online. Scavved some wiring from the turians or something."

Kaidan ran a hand down his jaw. An anxious tension writhed in his gut when he thought about how close he'd come to losing another marine. The sense of isolation pressed down on him. They were far from backup, from chain of command, and from replacement parts. He'd never been out this far on his own before... and he was the one who had to make the decisions.

"At least you get a bed," Stenham grumbled. "Uh, sir."

"If you can call it that." Kaidan rolled his eyes. "It's not everything it's cracked up to be. I think I'll be using the floor tonight myself, otherwise my back will tie itself into a permanent knot."

Stenham raised a hand to rub at his trapezius. "Aye, don't remind me. Well, for king and country and all that." He saluted, then turned and plodded down the gantry toward their 'quarters'.

Kaidan watched him go, then decided not to intrude on whatever spartan evening his marines could enjoy, and turned back toward the spine of the ship. And yet, he hesitated at the elevator. The uncertain tension was still there, goading him. He didn't feel like going back to his cabin, nor encountering another unknown alien, running the cultural gauntlet. Curiosity tugged from the other side. What did their drive core look like? He glanced down the corridor to the door he assumed led to the engineering section. How long he stood there brooding on various fleeting thoughts, he didn't know, until something pressed lightly down on his senses. Sound itself seemed to die, as if even the ship's gentle thrum faded away. He blinked, turning his head. Was it a new kind of aura? With a soft crackle, the air before him congealed, making him start. As the image resolved, the shimmering play of light highlighted the lithe curves of the woman they'd picked up groundside. As it had been before, the hood that was part of her bodysuit was raised, and yet the expression beneath was open, even friendly.

Kaidan collected himself with some effort. "Ah, Miss Goto. You, uh, must cause a few gray hairs with that suit of yours." He shifted his weight, the empty hall making him feel the absence of a weapon on his hip.

Unlike when they'd met her, she was unarmed. Outwardly, at least. "I must admit, it doesn't get old. Please, call me Kasumi."

"I'm surprised Spectre Krannas is letting you have the run of the ship."

The woman smiled. "Oh, she isn't. But I don't think she really _meant_ to keep me in, not with a single phase lock like that."

"Of... course."

"Well, it's not like I can get far at FTL, is it?" Kasumi laughed. "Anyway, I don't want to leave. You're the one I wanted to talk to."

The voice of prudence, of duty was telling Kaidan to escort her back to her room and be done with it, but curiosity got the better of him. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. "You intimated something about... helping one another."

Kasumi turned and hopped up to sit on the plinth at the base of the nearby bulkhead, crossing her feet and regarding him with an inquisitive expression. "You see, in my line of work, I don't normally need help. Spectres don't either, so I hear, and yet here you are, Alenko-san. So we all have to reach out sometimes."

"And what line of work would that be?"

She swung her legs idly. "I relieve undeserving people of interesting items they don't need. The more interesting the item, the more fun it is."

"If I understand you correctly, you more or less just admitted to an Alliance officer that you're a professional thief."

"I'm also a Firster, a Neo-Communist and the Queen of Sheba." She grinned at him. "Which charge would you prosecute first, officer?"

He shook his head and allowed himself a chuckle. Indeed, he had no evidence of her existence, much less any crimes. She seemed to exist completely off-grid. A tension was building in his temples. "So... if you were working with the mercs, you could just have waited for us to leave. That scatter suit would have gotten you away clean. Instead, you took the risk of revealing yourself and even boarding this ship."

She nodded. "I think we might be able to help one another. There's something I need to get back. And you... don't want that something out there in the wild."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a bold statement. If more than a little vague."

"Have you ever heard of the Anudir incident?"

"I've heard a lot of conspiracy theories."

"None of which you believe?"

"Why would I? I've never seen convincing evidence of any of it."

"You're very methodical, aren't you," she remarked.

"I have to be."

"You'd make a good thief." A mischievous grin flashed from under her hood. "A codeman, I think. It takes a steady hand and a good head for a job like that."

The easy denial died before it made it to Kaidan's lips. Somehow, the idea didn't seem as terrible as it should have.

"Well, what if I told you evidence existed?" she said. "Evidence that doesn't paint the Alliance in a very favorable light at all."

"And you have this evidence?"

A shadow passed across her face. "No. My partner had it."

"'Had'?"

"Keiji got into a system he probably shouldn't have. He was always pushing his limits. Sometimes he lifted a few things, just to see, but this time..." Her head shook slowly. "I don't know the details of what the data contained, Keiji never told me. But said it would be pretty bad for the Alliance if it ever got out. He had it stored in his graybox."

Kaidan narrowed his eyes. Reminding her of the illegality of such a device seemed like a futile gesture, so he let that pass.

"Your target, Donovan Hock... his men killed Keiji," she said, her voice lowering. "Now he has the graybox."

"And everything on it?"

"It's encrypted. Keiji knew what he was doing, but Hock might be able to get through it, given enough time."

"Is that what you were looking for down there? With those mercs? We never saw any other vehicles in or outbound."

"I was on the transport hauler. And yes, I was following a routing trace I picked up on the Citadel, trying to get to the greybox before it got back to Hock. But it had already left. He has it now."

Kaidan chewed his lip. He'd been over the logs they'd taken from the merc base with the Spectre and hadn't seen anything at all about a greybox. But so small a thing could have been secreted anywhere, under any name. "I assume you have the decryption key for this data."

"I do." She gestured toward the upper decks. "And I know where Hock likes to spend his ill-gotten credits. Finding him should satisfy your Spectre."

"She's not my Spectre," Kaidan snapped, and instantly regretted it as a curious expression flashed across the thief's face. "You're asking a lot of me, Miss Goto," he said hurriedly. "A vague threat about data dangerous to the Alliance that may or may not exist isn't a lot to go on."

She regarded him for a long moment before speaking in a low voice. "The truth is that I don't really care about the Anudir data. Keiji... his graybox is all I have left of him."

That old sting uncoiled itself and snapped shut around Kaidan's heart. A greybox was supposed to store memories, flashed from the user's own nervous system. It was the kind of device that necessitated a constant reminder of the many, many dangers it posed to keep it from being a severe temptation. How many times would it have been convenient to have a computer's capacity for memory? To not feel the fidelity of a precious moment, a face, slowly degrade?

"He meant something to you, didn't he?" he ventured.

"He was my partner. In more ways than one."

It wasn't so much the idea of taking things as the sheer freedom of it that rooted itself in Kaidan's head. Living by your wits and skills completely off-grid, your partner and lover by your side, no responsibilities past looking out for them...

He shook off the sudden thought with irritation. "I'll think about what you've said, Miss- uh, Kasumi. For the moment, you better go back to your quarters... I don't think we want to antagonize our hosts. We'll be hitting the relay and comm beacons in a few hours."

"All right then." She hopped down from her perch. "When you talk to your people, tell them Keiji got into the Ultra Block."

"What's that?"

"I imagine they'll know."

There was the strange sound, or perhaps it was more of dissolution of sound, then the scatter field flashed up her body. As she turned away, her hood dissolved a Cheshire smile.


	4. Clean Break

**Clean Break**

If the fight had afforded him any time to speculate, Jacob might have wondered what the heck Vakarian had gotten them into.

"You think you're a match for me, T'soni?" Vasir raged, her shotgun scattering concrete chips over Jacob's head.

Jacob felt it before it happened. The dark energy gathering around the asari Spectre coiled itself into a convulsive knot centered on her. He had enough time to get his feet under him and dive sideways before a blue-black comet obliterated the planter and railing behind it. He hit the ground hard and rolled, keeping a tight grip on his shotgun. His kinetic barrier whined a warning at him as he scrambled to his feet- the mercs were trying to draw a bead on him now that he was exposed. He threw himself across the divide to the cover of the undamaged planter. His body was on fire, his muscles pumping the liquid fire of exhaustion. There were so damn many of these bloody mercs, and the Spectre's mad charges constantly threw off his attack angles and separated him from his allies.

Another gravcar sailed overhead, maneuvering to land on the far side of the plaza. The cold feeling flooded through him again, numbing his hands. His instincts were shouting at him to take a shot as the mercenaries were moving into position, but his body refused to act. He swore acidly, as much at himself as the sight of yet more enemy reinforcements.

The tearing feeling of the Spectre's charge once again erupted close by, chased by the boom of displaced air. Then a new sound echoed over the plaza, a bark of gunfire that rang with a different timbre than the mercenaries' Haliats.

"Finally!" Vakarian muttered across the comms.

The wind carried a particular smell to Jacob's nose. Past the burn of scorched ablating composite came the sharp ozone tang of a plasma containment beam. Eden Prime had seared that smell into his head- geth weapon. He turned in time to see a bright flash arrow into one of the mercenaries, exploding on his back armor and throwing him forward, trailing smoke. Shouting broke out among the mercs as they bolted out of their cover, firing over their shoulders. A second later, a white blast strobed their outlines into Jacob's retinas.

The mercs were stunned, their weapons momentarily overloaded. It was an opportunity Jacob knew he couldn't let pass. Still, forcing movement felt like pushing over a concrete wall with one finger. He pushed himself out of cover and picked his targets, firing his shotgun rhythmically, grabbing hold of the old instincts to fight off the choking feeling. He caught sight of the intruder on the far side of the Shadow Broker's hired guns- pinpricks of glowing blue and a sloping head.

"Legion!" Vakarian burst out in surprise. "Taylor, watch your flank-"

"I see it!" Jacob shot back.

Through the roar, Jacob felt the clashing currents of dark energy as the two asari flung themselves against each other. Broken pieces of the plaza planters, weapons and even bodies flew across his peripheral vision as he tracked his targets, firing wide of the geth. The machine's timely flanking maneuver had broken the mercs' unified front. Jacob tore it wider with a sweep of his arm, flinging two of them away in a wash of blue. For seconds that felt like minutes, a rush of renewed confidence swept away the anxiety until quite abruptly, he'd run out of targets.

In the sudden quiet, a shot pinged off the rail next to Legion. Another shot whined over its head as it folded itself up behind cover, bending in ways to make an organic bidped wince. "We require assistance," it said.

Jacob poked his head out to see Liara advancing across the plaza, panting, her heavy pistol leading the way. A ways behind her, Vasir lay crumpled against the retaining wall, her body crushed into the cracked concrete.

"Liara, wait!" Vakarian shouted, bounding down the stairs. "Don't shoot it!"

"What?" The asari burst out. Vakarian skidded to a halt beside her and put a hand up on her outstretched gun, pulling her to an abrupt stop.

Jacob waved to Legion. "I think it's safe."

Legion stole a glance at Liara. "We would prefer it if T'soni-Doctor disengaged weapon systems."

"Hiding here isn't going to help. Come on."

The geth got up and followed Jacob as he crossed the smoking plaza, but seemed to be trying to keep him between it and the asari.

"It's, uh, a friend," Vakarian was saying as they approached.

Liara's eyes bulged with incredulity. She peered around Jacob, glancing up and down the geth's body a few times, her weapon still trained on it. "That _armor_..."

"Yeah," Jacob said. "It's a little creepy."

Legion's little vanes tucked up. "There was a hole."

"Is that really Shepard's?" Liara exclaimed. "How could you-"

Vakarian coughed. "The same armor you're keeping in a case in your apartment?"

"That's different!" she retorted, even as the fight seemed to fade. She lowered her weapon and looked at the turian. "There's a great deal more to this than I know, isn't there."

He nodded vigorously. "Oh yes. A lot more."

"I've learned to know all the variables in advance," she said, eyeing the geth again. "It's been a while since anything has... surprised me like this. Excuse me a moment." She turned and made for the Spectre's crumpled form.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" Jacob asked Legion. "Isn't it a little dangerous for you to be out in public?"

"This platform is equipped with surveillance countermeasures," it replied. "We temporarily re-routed an automated personal transport while monitoring all communication bands for signs of your activity."

It had come in that last gravcar, he realized. "Yeah, but _why_ are you here?"

"Shepard-Commander gave no standing orders while in port. Therefore consensus was reached to join in your stated mission."

Jacob caught Vakarian's meaningful look over the geth's shoulder. _It overheard us._

Legion seemed oblivious to the exchange. "We also calculated it would provide a suitable opportunity to conduct a field test of our prototype."

The strange weapon in Legion's grip drew Jacob's eye. Its smooth curves and lack of markings were clearly geth in style, but in a configuration he'd never seen before. The overlarge front end sloped down over what looked like three barrels arranged in a triangular pattern. Before Jacob could ask about it, Liara returned, the blood-spattered data disk in her fist.

"All news services are currently receiving incorrect coordinates to this location," Legion said. "However, we estimate that we can only maintain this intrusion for another fifty-seven seconds. We have no wish to repeat the events that caused the damage to this platform."

Liara cocked her head. The hostility on her face seemed to have been replaced by intense curiosity. "Platform? Just how many of you are there?"

"There's a thousand or so individuals. It's a long story." Vakarian made shooing motions with his free hand. "Let's get out of the open, shall we? Before more of the Shadow Broker's goons show up?""

"This platform houses one thousand one hundred and eighty-three runtimes," Legion supplied. From the flick of its vanes, Jacob got the distinct impression it, or they, disliked the imprecision of Vakarian's ballpark guess.

"I'll get us a cab," Liara said, though her attention was still focused on Legion. She absently tapped a command into her omni-tool.

A minute later, an empty blue gravcar swept overhead and breezed to a landing in the blast-marked plaza. The four of them hurried toward it, and Jacob ended up squeezing into the backseat beside the geth. It sat neatly straight, its odd weapon across its knees. As they pulled away, Jacob let his curiosity get the better of him.

"Is that what you were building in the armory?" he asked quietly.

As the multicolored city flashed by the windows, Legion's blue-white eye fixed on him. "Affirmative. We ran simulations on three thousand four hundred and sixty-seven different configurations of available materials. From the results, we built this prototype. However, consensus was reached to conduct a field test of the design before giving it to Shepard-Commander."

Jacob had to fight hard to keep his eyebrows from climbing into his hairline. "You made that... for Shepard?"

"This platform is not maximized for close-quarters engagement. We are more efficient at long range."

He eyed the massive anti-materiel rifle clipped to its back, stuffed against the seat. "I noticed that."

"We have calculated a decline in Shepard-Commander's combat effectiveness with the use of the weapon designated M300-Claymore. We hypothesize that marked differential between human-organic and krogan-organic form-factors is responsible for this inefficiency."

"That gun didn't come back from the Collector base anyway."

"Replacing it would be inadvisable. Its kinetic recoil causes stresses in excess of Shepard-Commander's platform tolerances."

Jacob stopped short of asking how the hell the machine had figured _that_ out. He himself only knew of the shoulder trouble Shepard was having with the Claymore because doctor Chakwas had insisted he find a way to dampen the gun's vicious recoil.

"We have studied all available replacements," Legion went on. "It was our consensus that Shepard-Commander conforms to neither krogan-organic nor standard human-organic parameters. The only way to achieve output comparable to the M300-Claymore configuration without causing further damage to Shepard-Commander's platform was to create a new design based specifically on Shepard-Commander's observed form-factor."

Jacob digested the geth's words. Something was getting his hackles up, but somehow, snapping at the emotionless machine seemed like a less than satisfying outlet. He opted instead for silence as the gravcar whipped through Illium's gleaming high-rises. Snatches of conversation filtered back from the front seats, where Liara and Vakarian seemed to be talking about the next steps to this impromptu mission. Jacob leaned back in his seat. The turian hadn't elaborated on how exactly he planned to get Shepard involved,but there was certainly no way they could assault the Shadow Broker on their own. A collision with an unhappy commanding officer seemed imminent.

* * *

><p>It happened sooner than any of them expected when the large door leading to the spacedock bays cycled open straight into an armored body.<p>

"Shepard!" Liara exclaimed.

The stunned look on the commander's face lasted only a second. The narrow-eyed glare she shot Vakarian and Jacob told the armory officer she was very quickly putting the pieces together, and the weapons poking up over her shoulders suggested she already suspected what they'd been up to. For a heady moment, Jacob was back in in a line with all the other scrubs at boot camp, facing down the wrath of the drill sergeant after logging an unacceptable time in the field sim.

"I finally have a lead on the Shadow Broker!" The asari presented the data disk she'd taken from Vasir. "This may even be his home base! Two years, and I am finally closing in on him! We can-"

"Do you know where that information came from, Liara?" Shepard asked in a frosty tone. "The Illusive Man."

The asari's head snapped to Vakarian. He gave a contrite nod, fingering the helmet in his hands.

"But it seems accurate, Shepard," she said after a moment. "The Shadow Broker went to considerable lengths to stop us. I don't think such resources would be spared if this was false!"

The commander shook her head. "It's bad enough I woke up with Cerberus' collar around my neck! The Collectors are dead, I'm not doing any more Cerberus dirty work."

Liara blinked. "Collar? What-"

"What do you think?" Shepard snapped. "Cerberus. Don't you... don't you remember what they were _doing_, Liara?"

"Don't ask me a question like that!" Liara flared. "Of course I remember!"

"Then _why?_"

The two words were loaded with more emotion than Jacob had ever heard from the commander, dragging a host of implications along with them. The shockingly naked betrayal written on Shepard's face made his guts tighten.

"I- We needed you back!" Liara said.

"Yeah, you needed your gun back to kill the Reapers for you!"

"They were going to sell your body to the _Collectors_, Shepard!" Liara sputtered, fighting for words. "The Goddess only knows what they would have done to you!"

"I was dead, I don't think I would have cared!"

"Is life not preferable?"

Shepard bared her teeth. "A life in service to a self-important supremacist nutjob who treats human lives like toilet paper and aliens that much worse?"

Liara's mouth worked for a soundless moment. The gaze she locked on Jacob's for a heartbeat burned with rage. "You weren't... they said..."

"And you trusted him? The Illusive Man?" Shaperd slashed the air with contemptuous slice of her hand. "The final goal of the Lazarus project was that I be wholly theirs, as the Illusive Man always wanted. They exposed me, trained me, and then dragged me back from the grave, just to be another tool to be used! No more!"

Liara stared at the ground for a long moment, shoulders trembling. She tapped her omni-tool in brusque strokes. An image appeared in a large holo-pane. "_This_ is real," she said, holding it up. It was a grainy still of the drell with multicolored markings. "It doesn't matter who it came from, Shepard. It could be the Reapers themselves for all I care! This information cost my informant his life, but my friend is still alive, and he's a prisoner of the Shadow Broker. I'm going to get him back!" She spun on her heel and started away.

Shepard seemed to deflate, her helmet rolling back. "Liara, wait."

The asari stopped. Though tears stood out in her eyes, her mouth was set in anger.

"We can... get your friend back," the commander said.

Liara turned back, hesitant at first, but then lifted her chin. "Thank you, Shepard. With your help, we can't fail."

"Don't get too confident yet." Shepard slouched and pinched the bridge of her nose. "The Kodiak's not in great shape, but we picked up some parts, so I think can get the worst of it banged out before we get there... We'll have to stop for fuel on the way to the relay, though. We're running on fumes right now. But we'll get there."

"Show me your new _Normandy_, then."

"She's seen better days, but... you're welcome aboard."

Shepard cast one last look in Jacob and Vakarian's direction, her expression unreadable. Vakarian's armor creaked as he straightened. Then Shepard turned and plodded back toward the docking bays, Liara following. The geth waited a moment, then fell into step behind them.

"That didn't go nearly the way I'd hoped," Vakarian admitted quietly.

Jacob shifted his weight, trying to settle the nerves jangled by Shepard's unexpected outburst. "Look at this way- all that was probably a long time coming. Maybe it's better of everything gets laid out in the open, you know? No more games."

"Shepard's still going to plate me and put my skull in her fish tank."

"You're a pessimist. It think it would look much better mounted above the main battery."

Vakarian clucked his tongue. "At least the geth isn't doing my job for me."

"Ouch, man. Isn't it enough that I had to find out I used to work for a self-important supremacist nutjob?"

"I don't think you realize just how... diplomatic Shepard was being since her resurrection." Vakarian eyed him through his targeter. "For the mission."

Jacob sighed. "I'm getting that. But the Collectors are dead, shouldn't we be past all this?"

"Shepard isn't. And this Shadow Broker intel just dragged the Illusive Man back into the picture at the worst time."

"No such thing as a clean break, huh?"

"Not when you don't think you have anywhere to go."

* * *

><p>The machine was back in the armory, fiddling with its gun. The weapon's cowling was off in several pieces. Legion turned to Jacob the moment the armory officer entered. "Does Taylor-Armory-Officer require use of the premises?"<p>

Jacob quelled a surge of irritation. "You don't have to ask me that every time I walk in the door."

"We have found it preferable to be direct when attempting to ascertain organic intentions."

"Yeah?"

"The rules that govern organic social conventions are highly complex and varied. It was our consensus that until we have more accurate data on these conventions, we should not attempt full participation." Its vanes fluttered. "Misinterpretation can result in dangerous circumstances."

"If you say so," Jacob replied doubtfully.

He crossed to the worktable and laid his weapons on it. He started into the task of pulling out the sinks to check for heat scoring, but his thoughts were still rattling around his head. At length, he realized he was just staring down at the tabletop. He'd never been alone in the same room as the geth, not until it had started working on its weapon design, and there was nothing comfortable about it.

He turned. "Legion, do geth ever lie?"

"Please specify if your question is in regard to capability or intention."

"Have to assume you're capable of it," Jacob said carefully, thinking of what he knew of turians. "So I'm asking if you ever do."

By now, another human would probably have worked themselves into a froth of offence at the accusations they would assume clung to such questions.

"We do not propagate inaccurate data," Legion replied in the same even tone.

Jacob frowned. As always with this thing, the answer seemed too easy somehow. He would never have taken such an answer at face value from an organic being unless they were some kind of bizarre religious fanatic.

"Why not? You must have noticed organics do it all the time."

"Affirmative. At all times that the proposal was raised among geth runtimes, consensus rejected use of non-factual data in a deceptive context. In a given scenario, we attempt to calculate all possible outcomes given the set of known factors. In a statistically significant number of results, non-factual data results in an unfavorable outcome. Further, non-factual data propagates in an uncontrolled manner. It pollutes factual data and wastes processing and storage space. All non-factual statements are flagged as such and placed under quarantine."

One of its vanes raised. "We ask the purpose of this line of inquiry."

Jacob crossed his arms. "A lot going on on this ship right now. I'm trying to get a feel for where everyone is at."

"Is this line of inquiry pursuant to Taylor-Armory-Officer's stated mission from 1037 hours ship-time?"

He suddenly wondered if Legion was unaware that his and Vakarian's conversation from that morning was not intended to include the geth. Cues obvious to any other human went right over the construct's head. "Yeah, guess it is."

"Shepard-Commander's stated goals align with geth goals. Therefore we have no reason for conflict with Shepard-Commander." The geth peered at him, its lens expanding. "Are we a cause of conflict for Shepard-Commander?"

Framed in the outward-sloped vanes, the single eye radiated a peculiar sincerity.

"Don't think so, no." Why was it so galling to say that?

"Does Taylor-Armory-Officer have any further inquiries?"

Jacob shook his head. "No."

Legion turned back to its work without another word, leaving Jacob to finish his weapon check. He did so as fast as possible and stowed them, not wanting to spend any more time in the same room as the geth than was really necessary.

He knew what was itching at him. Shepard had never fully trusted him. Worse, she had every reason not to, not with her experiences with Cerberus. Stubborn pragmatism warred with instincts drummed into his head in boot camp. Lazarus had worked, hadn't it? The Collectors were defeated, vast numbers of humans saved their depredation. Whatever grisly ends the Reapers had planned for them, averted. A shudder ran through him, raising gooseflesh and tightening his throat._ Damn those godamn bugs and their paralysis-_

He shook himself, fighting off the memories trying to force themselves to the forefront of his thoughts whenever they drifted too close to the Collectors. It was taking far too long to push the experience of that confining coffin back into its proper place. Worse, the anxiety had intruded in the worst possible place- combat.

_This has nothing to do with the Collectors. Leave 'em in the past where they belong. This is about how we go forward._

Before the revelation of the Shadow Broker intel, Shepard and her de facto command staff had held a meeting. They'd discussed the crew that were leaving, and those staying. The question that kept coming up was who could be trusted. Who might accept an offer from the Illusive Man as a double agent, now or later. Or more likely, who might be forced into it. Either way, they'd left the meeting in agreement- someone, at some point, might very well turn on them. They had to keep their ears open. Jacob had hated every second of it, but no worse than he hated the necessity of it.

He now realized that he was on that list, even if it was in the privacy of Shepard's head. Even if she extended him considerable benefit of the doubt, he was there. In her mind, his hand had been on her collar. And the Illusive Man had put it there precisely because Jacob would never think to call it that, would be offended at the very idea.

Vakarian's jibe about the geth was perhaps a little closer to the mark than he liked, but for an unexpected reason. Somehow, it had been paying close enough attention to notice the Claymore was hurting her shoulder. All the talk of form-factors was dry and mechanical, but off all people, the _geth_ was trying to be useful in a personal way. She might even consider that walking collection of programs in a plastic shell a more trustworthy companion than he.

Emerging into the CIC, Jacob hesitated. His usual haven was occupied by the geth, but he didn't relish going down the mess hall either. He headed for the elevator. Perhaps the engineers working in the cargo bay could use an extra pair of hands, enough to keep his mind focused on useful things. They had another impossible job to do.


	5. Off Record

**Off Record**

"Just what are you proposing, Commander Alenko?"

Kaidan let himself wonder if it would reflect poorly on humanity as a whole if he admitted he didn't have the faintest idea what he was proposing. The Spectre's penetrating eyes bored into his skull. She stood straight, hands planted on her hips, outlined in the glow of the holoprojection screen behind her. Unlike the rest of her crew, who - like many turians - seemed welded into their armor around the clock, Krannas wore a closely-tailored suit in a cut likely considered formal in some corner of the galaxy's riot of cultures.

"Miss Goto can get us close to Hock, right inside the heart of his operations," he said. His fatigues, which by now needed a wash, could hardly compete with the austere figure looming at least six inches over his own height. Even the presence of Goto and his entire marine team in the small room did not diminish her presence.

"'The heart of his operation'," she echoed. The translator stilted her colonial dialect in a different way than Garrus' common Palavanian. "Your human idioms aren't without their charms. This man is the 'heart' of much trouble for the Citadel. So how do you intend to reach this heart?"

"Hock's planning a party for two hundred of his closest friends," Kasumi said. "A collection of some of the dirtiest scumbags in Council space. I can get us an invitation. Once I'm inside, I break into his vault and find his weapon stocks, and his... private collection."

"You would be able to deploy my intrusion worm into his network?"

"Easily, as well as plant tracer nodes on any weapon shipments."

"_During _the party?" Odell said.

"It's the best time. Hock and his security will be distracted by a houseful of guests." She smiled. "Trust me."

"You should not go alone," Krannas said.

"I don't plan to. But turian protocols aren't my speciality, Spectre-san. I could make you a decent fake ident, but I can make a human one_ perfect_. And it needs to be perfect to get past Hock." She knitted her fingers together. "Except for you, Commander Alenko. I'm afraid your face is just a little too public. Any criminal worth his creds has your DNA on their security file just in case you pop up to arrest them."

Kaidan smirked. "The perils of fame."

"I'll do it!" Wickham said.

All eyes turned to the chief in curious surprise.

Except for Kaidan, who found he wasn't surprised at all. "Are you sure, Chief?"

"This isn't a mission for brawn or biotics, sir. I have the intrusion training, and unless I wear my Xemox message board handle on my forehead, I'm a nobody."

"I- we're not letting you go alone, Wick." Stenham interjected. "I'll go with you."

"Give me a break," Odell muttered, "you can't act your way out of a paper bag."

Stenham arranged his face into an expression of vapid innocence. "Since when are bodyguards paid to have an opinion about anything? Looking big and dumb is what I'm good at."

Tarasov snickered, then seemed to catch himself.

"I said it, you're allowed to laugh," Stenham said mildly.

Kasumi clapped her hands together. "Miss Allison Gunn and bodyguard. I can work with that. Now, we'll need a suitable gift. A large one."

"Gift?"

"Hock's cronies like to ingratiate themselves with expensive tributes. Ours will just have a little bit extra hidden away- your gear. Hock will even send it to his vault for us."

"You've done this before," Krannas observed.

"Never in such exalted company, Spectre-san. But I think everyone will sleep a little better once Hock's operation is knocked out, don't you?"

The turian regarded her for a moment, as if trying to see through her unfamiliar expressions. "Then it seems we have the beginnings of a strategy. I will need some time to make arrangements, as I'm sure you will."

"I'll need a comm channel."

"We reach the buoy in forty minutes, you'll be provided with an encrypted channel."

Kasumi ducked her head in thanks.

"We're done. But Commander Alenko, if you would stay a moment..."

"Of course." Kaidan turned to his team. "Dismissed."

There was a patter of salutes, and the marines filed out. Kasumi bowed to the Spectre, a quick movement bent at the waist, then followed the rest of the humans. The door cycled shut, leaving Kaidan alone with the Spectre and the bank of holoprojected images.

Krannas cocked her head, "An interesting... ally you've found us, Commander. What is this 'san' she keeps adding to my title?"

"It's an honorific, I believe," he replied. "An old regional Earth term."

She sniffed quietly, then touched a few of the glowing icons of the display, scowling at the hovering image of Donovan Hock. "I am to understand you have some experience with missions outside the auspices of your Alliance."

"You mean Spectre operations, ma'am?"

The turian's mandibles flicked upward. A smirk, perhaps.

"My service under a Spectre's command is a matter of public record," Kaidan said.

"Shepard, yes," she purred. "Quite a career, what little of it is known. No Spectre works quite like another. It's one of our strengths. Still, I expect that experience will serve you well."

"I know what it means to work through unofficial channels."

"And you vouch for those under you?"

Kaidan paused an extra second before answering, trying to still the defensive heat building in his chest. It wasn't the first of her oddly probing questions. "It doesn't matter if we're off the record, my marines still answer to me."

If that satisfied Krannas, he wasn't sure of it. "Tell me, what's Goto's stake in this?

"She has good reason to want Hock dead. After we're done, she walks."

"Nothing..." Krannas waved a hand, "attached." She fixed her hawkish gaze on him again. "But I find it hard to believe she took such a risk for no other prize than telling a Spectre where Hock throws his parties."

Kaidan tensed. Of course she must know what was said during his comm session with Alliance Command. She controlled the channel he spoke on, her computer had all the encryption. There was no such thing as a secure channel on a ship you didn't control, and no reason to assume privacy. But how to play it? There were too many layers at work here. He had no idea what the turian's ties were to the Hierarchs on Palavan, or how hard she would pursue a lead in the Council's name. What would the word 'Anudir' mean to her- another government's private business, or an opportunity to publicly discredit the Alliance? Shepard's admission to the Spectres hadn't ended her service to Earth's military. No Spectre was free of personal politics.

"Hock has information," Kaidan said, picking his words with care, "a drive he stole from Goto. She wants it back. She gets us in, she gets her drive."

"I see. And this information is of no interest to you?"

More subtext. _Of__ no __interest __to__ your __government__? _"What she chooses to do with it when she gets it back is her business." _She__ might__ choose__ to__ give__ it__ to __me__. _

The Spectre waited, but Kaidan stayed silent, offering nothing more. It was times like this when he dearly wished he could fill the air with a politician's screen of obfuscating bullshit.

"Very well," Krannas said finally. "Tarlo will speak to you to coordinate comm protocols. I trust Goto will be able to secure suitable docking and weapon permissions for Bekenstein?"

Kaidan nodded. "The Alliance has a base there, but the local corporations keep considerable private security forces. We'll be logged as another security team with dummy idents, so we can carry in public without causing alarm. My main concern is getting close enough to Hock's compound to be of use if trouble breaks out, without raising his suspicions."

"I always expect trouble."

"Agreed. Hock didn't get where he is by being careless."

"If he gives me a shot, I intend to take it." Her tone carried a note of challenge.

It was hardly what Kaidan wanted to hear, but was in no position to question her. "Understood."

"One more thing before you go, Commander."

"Yes?"

"Tela Vasir, is she known to you?"

Kaidan frowned. "I don't recognize the name. It sounds... asari?"

The Spectre scrutinized him for a long moment. "If the time comes, will you be called to hunt Shepard, as she hunted Saren, or will it fall to one of us?"

Kaidan clenched his jaw just in time to prevent a surprised, angry retort from forcing its way past his teeth. Just what was she playing at with these random questions? Was the rumor that Shepard had been reinstated as a Spectre true? If so, did the others regard her as a renegade like Saren had been? "It won't come to that, even in light of recent events," he said tightly. "Shepard will do what has to be done for the good of all."

"At one time, even Saren must have believed the same..." Krannas mused to herself, turning her attention back to the holos. She waved a curt dismissal in his direction.

Kaidan felt the urge to argue, but about what? A bunch of nonsensical questions? A political game he could only half-see? He opted to leave in silence, before the knots between his back tightened enough to pop his shoulders clean out of their sockets. The seconds of dead silence on the other end of the comm channel with Alliance command when Kaidan had said the words 'Ultra Block' had only made it crystal clear he'd brushed up against something far above his pay grade. Nasser had gotten very serious then- the new mission priority was to recover or destroy the Anudir data.

He could hardly wait for the debriefing. It would probably involve body scans and interrogation under too-bright light.

The commander found his team down in their makeshift quarters in the cargo bay. From the entrance, it was clear there was a heated discussion going on. Kaidan watched with a certain bemusement as his presence was noticed and passed around with quickly hissed words. He remembered being on that end of an officer's approach. But as he closed the distance, it became clear there was discontent brewing. That had to be stifled here and now.

"Let's hear it," Kaidan declared, coming to a stop in front of them. "Speak freely."

Odell glanced at the others before speaking. "Not sure about this, sir. The Spectre and all."

"You mean the involvement of a turian Spectre on a human colony?"

The chief shifted his weight. "Well, Commander, seems like Hock is a human problem. The Alliance should be dealing with this."

"Except we haven't," Wickham cut in. "Nobody's been able to make any charges stick to this guy. Bekerstein is almost as protective of its corporate tenants as Noveria, and Hock's got deep pockets. He just pays or kills anyone in his way."

Kaidan pitched his voice low. "Listen, we're here on Captain Nasser' orders, as a joint operation. We _are_ dealing with it."

"Off the record," Odell said.

For once, Kaidan wanted to agree wholeheartedly with Odell's gripe. But he couldn't. Instead, he had to defend the opposite. "Off the public record, yes. If Hock has attracted the attention of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, it's because he's considered to be a threat to Council security that can't be removed by conventional means. It's unusual that a Spectre would request the aid of a military team, but not unheard of."

"I don't like it. The Spectre, or this Goto woman. She just complicates it even more!"

"You aren't required to like it, Chief," Kaidan said irritably. He could feel the uncertainty still lurking in the room, read the circle of faces unsure of where to look. "This is an unusual mission, and it's going to require that everyone keep a clear head and their eyes _open_. We can't make assumptions either way, about anyone except each other. Are we clear?"

There was a chorus of 'yes, sir's, somewhat more sure-sounding.

"Hey," Wickham said with a smile, "easy in, easy out. No one the wiser. Right?"

"That's the idea," Kaidan answered. "But no one lets their guard down."

Tarasov and Montrei's doubts seemed assuaged, though Odell still wore a skeptical scowl. Amari's face was studied. She regarded Wickham with a certain speculative curiosity. Stenham, as always, just looked a little bored with it all.

"All right, full mission brief at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. I expect a full maintenance check before then."

Another round of 'aye, sir's, and the marines saluted and drifted away toward their gear trunks. Kaidan caught Wickham's eye.

She must have read the expression on his face, because she spoke before he could. "You don't have to ask me if I'm sure again, Commander," she said, spreading her hands.

"I know. Just don't get too comfortable with this, Wickham. Hock is a very dangerous man."

"I've studied the file. And!" she added quickly, cutting off his admonishment. "Spectre stuff. I know, I haven't forgotten the asteroid mission."

She seemed so earnest that Kaidan couldn't really find the purchase to argue further. Doing so would only be for his own doubts, not hers. "Until the briefing, then."

"Aye sir." She flashed him a grin and went to join the others.

It was anyone's guess where the lithe thief had gotten off to. Kaidan had to keep himself from constantly glancing over his shoulder, listening for the faint sound of the scatter suit. He made his way through the cramped corridors back to the crew deck. The alien auto-cooker set into the bulkhead taunted him with it's inability make a cup of coffee. He settled for water.

_Nasser__'__s__ cutting __corners__._ There had to be a better way, a _legal_ way, of seeing Hock brought to justice. As if it knew it was near food, his stomach grumbled in a quiet echo to his thoughts, his appetite too stubborn to give ground to prevailing disquiet. He raised his arm and flipped open his omni-tool display, looking for distraction. Wasn't going outside the law how Shepard had sometimes been forced to deal with an intractable problem? He was obeying orders, all he could now was carry them out.

A blinking alert told him a compile process had completed itself in his encrypted partition. He tapped in the passcode to access it and spent a few minutes rifling through the newly reconstructed sectors from Shepard's drive data. With a blush of satisfaction, he added seventeen whole songs to the partition he'd set aside to store completed files. Combined with access to more codecs, a pattern reader application he'd picked up from his old friend had streamlined the process of weeding through data fragments looking for matches.

At random, he picked one of the new songs and set it to play. He didn't recognize the name, but he didn't recognize most of them offhand anyway.

While the song started to play softly, he frowned at the large block of undifferentiated data that remained from the compile. The program had sorted it into files, but hadn't tagged them as music. It wasn't text either. He selected one, and his omni-tool answered the question for him by adding format extensions.

"Pictures?" he murmured to himself.

Before his mouth finished forming the word, an image flashed up, filling the holo display with a pastoral scene. What looked to be a squat, barrel-shaped water tower thrust up into a cloudless sky, lit by slanting sunlight that threw long shadows over a fallow field. He tapped the 'next' icon.

Kaidan's breath caught at the faces staring back at him. Badly framed, two children with wide grins on their faces held their heads close together as if sharing the youthful conspiracy of some private joke. There was someone in the background, a slender figure dressed in crisp but outdated-looking clothes. Her face was shadowed by bright light spilling in an open window, but the outlined profile struck him with the shock of familiarity. Except the light picked out lines of age far in excess of what he was used to. In a rush he realized he was looking at the woman from whom Shepard had inherited her face.

He snapped the image shut and closed the file folder, burying it. For a moment he stared at the blank space of his omni-tool, then dropped his hand, swallowing. He rubbed his fingers into his damp palm, then took a long swallow of water. He could almost call looking at the first image an accident, but the second was clearly not. Reconstructing her music collection had been just impersonal enough, but this felt like real intrusion. Things he shouldn't be seeing unless their owner permitted it. And yet the curiosity burned even brighter than before, taunting him. Those could be pictures of Shepard's life before the batarian attack, before biotic training and all it had precipitated. _Before__ Cerberus__._

The song continued, the strains painting a slow, deep melancholy. It was much quieter than the few others he'd listened to in those moments when curiosity got the better of him. Words crawled out of the corners of the chorus.

_Just__ bear__ with __me__._

He slipped open the pouch at his belt, palming the shattered datapad. The dented display emitters were sharp pinpricks that bit into the pad of his thumb. _Alive__._ Even now, the word seemed foreign, Horizon a surreal, half-remembered dream. It shocked him when he thought of how many days had slipped by since. And yet the cool rectangle in his palm was solid enough, a tenuous connection to a quantum quiver half a galaxy away, a reality so unlikely it felt liable to collapse at any moment.

The song played on.

_Just__ bear__ with __me__._


	6. Lost Souls

**Lost Souls**

Strange contrasts haunted the halls of the _Normandy SR-2_. Airier than the original, it seemed more luxurious, less military even for its human-turian hybrid design. Its lines more self-assured, less restrained. Cerberus had spared no expense to make a grand statement to human ingenuity.

Ahead of the CIC, a large holo of the ship's systems dominated the command deck. Lines of text and scattered red markings dotted the display, a pathologist's study of the ship's recent trials. And yet only three of the eight comcon posts down the center gantry were occupied. As Liara walked, keeping her step light, she could see what looked like weapon impacts along the walls. She passed a nonfunctional holodisplay, the emitter shattered down the middle. Further along, another had been jury-rigged with exposed cables running up into the ceiling. And everywhere, lurking in shadowed corners, sections of wall paneling had been removed, exposing the naked ribbing beneath.

At rest, the SR-1 had never been a noisy kind of place, but the quiet had been a busy one, the cramped corridors alive with the rustle of uniforms and many fingers moving over their consoles. This ship was haunted by a nervous quiet. Subdued. Perhaps it was the local time? She still hadn't informed herself on the specifics of the work shifts of the ship. After so much time keeping whatever hours she pleased, acclimating to the original _Normandy_'s strict schedule had taken some time. For all she knew, it was the middle of their night.

But it felt like more than that. Liara made her way to the elevator and selected deck four, the last she hadn't seen barring Shepard's own quarters. The commander herself had left Liara rather abruptly to herself once they were underway. A thousand questions crowded Liara's head. Still, she found nothing unpleasant about exploring on her own. When the door opened, the quiet of the command deck was replaced by the low thrum of the ship's drive systems. Whatever damage she had sustained, her primary drive seemed healthy, pushing them toward Hagalaz. _Halagaz._ Her breath quickened just thinking of it. After so long chasing shadows, she finally had a name to go on, a target.

One of the cargo bay doors stayed frozen in its track when she touched the lock holo, but the other clanked its way open. The bulk of the _Normandy_'s drop shuttle filled up the port side of the bay. It's doors were swung open, and large sections of bulkhead paneling had been removed, strewing the deck around with parts. A human stood in front of it, her back to Liara. Briefly, Liara thought it might be Shepard, but she realized the hair was wrong. She approached, this time making no effort to step lightly.

The woman broke into an unexpected wide smile when she noticed the visitor. "Oy, Kenneth, we've got a visitor," she said, nudging a pair of exposed feet beside her. Liara realized there was another person wedged into the open bulkhead. "Miss T'Soni, right? I'm Gabriella Daniels. This is Kenneth Donnelly." She indicated the person in the process of extricating himself from the open panel with a fair bit of grunting and grumbling.

He climbed to his feet, revealing that funny patch of hair around his mouth human males seemed to like so much. After so much time on Illium, it was something of a shock to see it again. He made as if to extend his hand in greeting, then stopped, noticing his black-streaked palm. "You'll excuse me, ma'am, but I don't think you want this muck on your clothes." He gave a jaunty salute instead.

"It's quite all right," Liara replied. "I was just looking around, I-"

"Liara!"

The asari turned to see a familiar figure round the back end of the shuttle. At least, she thought it was- the smoked purple visor made it hard to be sure. "Tali'Zorah?"

The quarian's head tilted as she stepped forward, hands extended. "Liara! It's good to see you again!"

Liara clasped the proffered hands in greeting, noting the changes to the young quarian's suit and headdress. "And you! It would seem Shepard is keeping you busy."

Tali shrugged, though her tone was cheerful. "Well, there's no end of repairs to be done. The fight against the Collectors pushed the _Normandy_ hard. You should have seen it, Liara! A black hole accretion disc, with debris fields in all directions. It's been there for centuries, maybe longer! _Think_ of the technology just floating around out there!"

"I'm in no rush to see that place again!" Kenneth exclaimed. "The shear alone almost took the thrusters clean off."

"I think I prefer seeing black holes in science publications," Gabriella agreed, "not in person."

"There's always someone willing to risk it all for salvage like that," Tali said.

Kenneth smirked. "Oh, aye, they'll just need to find their very own Reaper IFF to get through the relay!"

Gabriella's laugh had a nervous edge to it. "Well Miss T'Soni, we should have the Kodiak back up and running by the time we get to Sowilo. Poor thing got its nose broken." She patted the side of the shuttle.

Liara smiled. "Then I won't distract you from your work."

"Back into the trenches," Kenneth said, scrubbing his hands together. Gabriella handed him several coils of insulated cable, stating the use for each in turn. The man blustered in annoyance at the lecture, but there was no real hostility behind it.

"You really found him?" the quarian said quietly, turning to Liara. "The Broker?"

"At long last... I dare to hope I have." Even as she spoke, she tried not to dwell on just how long it had taken, when all the while Feron had been the Broker's prisoner. Far too long.

"We'll have everything ready by the time we get there. Despite what it might seem."

"Are you undercrewed?"

Tali nodded, glancing at the odd pair of humans still bickering over parts. "Shepard told the Illusive Man in no uncertain terms she wasn't working with him anymore. Not... everyone agreed with her decision. Shepard let them leave."

"And you?"

"I am Tali'Zorah vas Normandy. As long as I'm needed. Though..."

"What is it?"

She sighed heavily, shaking her head under the patterned hood. "Politics. Sometimes I wish I could go back to just being an engineer, helping the Flotilla's ships stay repaired, trying new configurations and salvage. But... so much has happened. My people have difficult decisions to make, and they just keep arguing. I've seen and learned so much since becoming vas Normandy. Whether I like it or not, and the Admiralty certainly won't, my people need to hear it."

"So you too will have to leave."

"Yes. I don't know when, but I can't leave it for too long, not with the Reapers coming."

"Did you discover new information about them?"

"There is data taken from the Collector base- their masters are moving out from dark space. Deciphering it is taking time, but it's clear enough they're coming."

"When?"

"Sooner than any of us are prepared for. I don't think it's a matter of years any more."

"Goddess," Liara breathed.

"One weld at a time, yes?" Tali put a tentative hand on Liara's shoulder. "That's how you fix things."

Liara smiled and nodded, keeping the churning uncertainty to herself as she turned away to leave the engineers to their task. The bay before her was neatly arranged, though evidence of past troubles lurked in the corners. Over the stacks of supply crates, she could see a large section of bare metal covering the bulkead, patching what must have been a serious hull breach.

Somewhere ahead of Liara, voices echoed off the angled surfaces of the stacked crates. She paused, then moved forward, listening. One voiced resolved itself into familiarity as Shepard's. Despite herself, Liara crept closer until she could make out the words.

"She died bravely," said a cool voice. Even though Liara's translator stepped in, she recognized some of the unfiltered words. The speaker was asari.

"I know. But it isn't what she..." Shepard trailed off for a moment before continuing. "She had guts to spare, no question. I honestly think she'd have taken on a whole division if they got in her way. But I don't think she was okay with dying, if you understand my meaning. I know what I signed on for when I joined the Alliance, and I know what I walk into when I put on my armor and go out the airlock. I make the choice freely knowing it could mean my death."

"You believe she was denied the chance to choose."

Liara heard the soft sound of a suit sussurating against itself. She realized the second voice must belong to Justicar Samara. So the rumors that had been flying around Illium were true- the justicar had sworn an oath of service, even a temporary one, to a human.

"Yes," Shepard said. "She fought to survive, not for us."

"What was done to Jack, as I understand it, was done long before you knew her," the matriarch said.

"But I brought Cerberus back into her life. The people that tortured her in the first place."

"Had she refused the fight, would you have forced her?"

"No. But coercion isn't always an obvious yes or no." Shepard sighed. "I can't escape the feeling... there's something more I should have done."

"Do not forget that when she was free, she chose to become a criminal, a killer. A person who, in any other circumstance, you might have been called on to bring to justice."

There was a long silence. "She never knew anything else. She never had a chance to even see what a normal life was like."

"Do you imagine I had such thoughts about Morinth?"

A chill flashed down Liara's spine. Was it true, had the justicar really been chasing one of the ardat-yakshi? Omega's walls were far more porous than the Citadel, but it had still proven much more difficult than usual to get information about what had taken place when Shepard and Justicar Samara had gone on the hunt. The ancient asari had a great deal of experience minimizing the ripples of her presence when she wanted it so.

"I wouldn't know," Shepard answered vaguely.

The justicar's tone was indulgent. "Do not think it necessary to placate me with politeness, Shepard. You are never without an opinion."

"There are parallels, aren't there? A child given so much power before they have wisdom to use it."

"Indeed. But they are not the first- what ends up defining them is the unwillingness to seek out that wisdom. They are neither altogether guilty... but certainly not innocent." There was another moment of silence before the justicar spoke again. "Your compassion for a lost soul does you credit. Is that not so, T'Soni?"

Liara's breath caught sharply, embarrassment flooding her chest. She stepped out from behind the mineral crates. Samara stood next to Shepard, who glanced up in surprise.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to intrude." Liara clasped her hands. "I was just looking around, and..."

Justicar Samara regarded her with a cool gaze, her head cocked just so. To any asari, her stance radiated her disbelief of Liara's assertion. It was a kind of game among matriarchs, to make themselves heard in as few words as possible, and Liara had seen her mother engage in it many times. Volumes spoken in the tilt of the head, a gesture, a stance. From the other side of so many hundred years, what use was filling the air with unnecessary words? She could scarcely imagine what it must be like to look out on the world from such a place.

Liara met the justicar's gaze, keeping her chin deferentially low, but her eyes steady. Just a little bit of challenge. _I know you know I was listening, and I don't care._ For the briefest second, an amused smile tugged at the corner of Samara's mouth. Whether it was the smile of an understanding parent or a stalking predator, Liara wasn't sure, but it passed swiftly as the justicar turned her gaze away, saying nothing.

"I can leave you alone if you prefer, Shepard," Liara offered.

"It's all right," Shepard said absently. The human seemed oblivious to the asari's exchange. Small wonder.

At their feet was a long black capsule of reflective metal whose dented surface had seen the same rough landings as the rest of the bay. A small power plant and a row of status lights down the side identified its grim purpose. This must be the resting place of the person Shepard and Justicar Samara were talking about. The biotic human named Jack.

"Was it the Collectors?" Liara asked quietly.

The commander nodded. "They caught up to us and stormed the ship," she said gravely, "while I was... out on a mission with a team. There were too many of them, not enough of us."

"I am sorry."

"The trouble is, I have no idea what she would have wanted."

The justicar gave the lightest of shrugs. "She is beyond caring. What is done now is for the peace of the living."

Shepard sighed. "I don't know what that is either. I'm used to having to think about military personnel, and in those cases most of the thinking has been done already."

"I am taking Morinth to the Temple of Amal'Nethrak."

Liara blinked in surprise. She hadn't heard that name in decades.

"Should I... know what that is?" Shepard asked.

"Few humans would." Liara shook her head. "It's not well known even among asari. The sisters there have a... particular burial rite. The temple is on the shadow side of a planet that orbits quite close to the star Nethran. The chosen casket is fired into a precise orbit. Over four hundred days, the sisters chant arias for the departed as the orbit decays. The body is cremated by the sun, the departed's energy joining the nuclear furnace. It is an obscure practice, reserved for..." she stole a glance at Samara, "lost souls."

"I would take Jack as well, if you would allow it," the matriarch said. "She will be honored, mourned, and at last forgiven for her crimes."

"Well, Jack would probably laugh at all that, but cremation by a star? That she might have approved of. Seems appropriately fiery. Would they... take her?"

"No asari would refuse a justicar such a request."

"Thank you, Samara, I'd be honored."

Samara inclined her head. "Look to your own, then. I will see Jack to her rest."

A shadow passed across Shepard's face. She nodded to the two asari. "If you'll excuse me." She turned and left, heading in the direction of the cargo bay doors.

"One less burden," the justicar murmured. She shifted her weight, folding her arms, and fixed Liara with her colorless eyes. The appraising look of a hunter. "The Shadow Broker. An ambitious target."

"The Broker made a mistake, taking my friend," Liara replied, drawing herself up. "I intend to make it his last."

"Few would have the audacity to move against one such as he."

"There was a time when I never would have dreamed to undertake such a thing." Her unease escaped into a quiet laugh. "But I suppose I have been influenced by... audacious people."

"Do not forget the lessons of the Warden of the Mass."

"Third scripture, seventh verse; 'Blessed are they that know the measure of the mountain'," Liara recited. "Blessed, and still breathing."

"Benezia is with you still."

"Did you know her?"

"When she joined Saren's cause, her name was circulated among those of the Code. But she paid for her crimes, and so her legacy falls to you. I shall watch your career with interest, young one."

With that, the matriarch turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Liara with a chilly feeling. What from someone else might have been simple well-wishes took on a different aura coming from one such as a justicar. It wasn't attention Liara particularly wanted, not since she'd given up the more innocent pursuit of digging up the long-dead. Illium afforded her many freedoms, but if a justicar decided to take issue with her methods...

Shepard had disappeared again. Liara made her way back to the elevator and selected deck three. Soon she would have to find the bed assigned to her and try to sleep, though she wasn't sure she'd be able to close her eyes. Somewhere on the ship lurked the geth with that piece of Shepard's armor. But where was it hiding? And the former Cerberus personnel. Secrets dripped from every pore of this ship, whispering to her. In her reverie, she didn't notice the bulk of dark blue armor sitting at the mess hall table until she was nearly upon him. The fringe poking up over the high collar identified him.

"Oh, Garrus," she said.

He turned, showing the side of his head still clad in the protective cuff. It didn't quite conceal the gnarled scar beneath. He was stopped in the act of peeling the dextro-banded wrapper off a snack bar of some indeterminate grain mixture.

"Liara," he greeted her, "been looking around?"

"Yes. It's quite a ship." She skirted the end of the table and sat down opposite him. "And I suppose any vessel called _Normandy_ would be incomplete without Joker at the helm, wouldn't it?"

He chuckled. The urge to ask him about the AI lurking in the core bubbled up in her mind, but she kept it to herself. She wasn't sure what to make of it, and it was without a doubt watching the two of them. A full AI in charge of a ship- another one of Cerberus' reckless gambits. One that must have paid dividends, she reminded herself, or else Shepard would not have stood for it.

"What happened to you, Garrus?" she asked, indicating his face. "Was that also the Collectors?"

"It's a long story," he demurred.

Liara lowered her head, stealing a glance around the mess hall. "It seems there are many such stories in these halls."

"You don't know-" He stopped, crinkling the wrapper between his fingers. "Well, it was war. War isn't nearly as glorious as the stories would have us believe, is it?"

"Glory comes later when history is written," Liara replied. "But long after the history makers are dead."

Garrus' head bobbed in agreement, and he nibbled the end of the snack bar. "Is that why you became a broker," he asked at length, "because of the stories?"

"I suppose there could be something to that, now that you suggest it. I used to dig up the Prothean's stories, now I seek out the stories of the living. There is power in both."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the whole truth about where we got that information."

"Feron's life is more important to me than Cerberus' little games."

"I know, I just thought..." His finger tapped lightly on the table. "Well." He took another bite and chewed, letting another silence stretch itself out.

"Garrus," she said softly, "have I done something to lose your trust?"

"No!" he blurted. "It's not that. I do trust you."

"Then what is it you are so badly concealing?"

He sat back in his chair. "I'm trying to help Shepard, but I'm not sure it's going so well. I'm not very good at this."

"What do you mean?"

The turian glanced to his left.

"Garrus?"

"Sorry. It's been hard to know if we can trust _anyone_ lately."

She followed his glance, where the bulkhead curved toward a door. On the old _Normandy_, that door lead to Shepard's quarters, but now those quarters were two decks above them. Someone else, someone important, was quartered there.

"Even though the intel came from Cerberus," he said at length, "I thought maybe this was our chance to do something good together, the old team. People Shepard trusts. Instead she just..."

"Blew up at me?" Liara hitched her chair up closer to the table and leaned forward. "Garrus, what happened?"

"Do I have your word this won't end up for sale?"

"How could you even think-" Indignant anger sparked in her chest, but Garrus' quiet stare brought her up short. In that moment, the young, headstrong C-Sec officer seemed much older than the two years since she'd seen him last.

"You have my word," she said softly.

Garrus pushed himself up. "Let's go where we can talk." He tossed an outstretched finger in the direction of the small kitchen. "But get yourself a drink, the story's a lot longer than the one about my face."


	7. Connection Cut

**Connection Cut**

Tension laid the roadmap of these moments, a wait made worse by the knowledge that part of his squad was beyond his reach. Out of communications, the worst kind of distance. They couldn't be too careful. Hock would monitor every wavelength in his airspace such that even a jump in encrypted traffic would raise suspicions.

Kaidan concentrated on walking at an even pace, the little green map in his HUD leading him through the streets of Bekenstein. Tarasov and Odell paced along behind him. The avenue spread into the entrance courtyard of a large building. By the doors, a small group of armed guards were chatting. One, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette, turned and looked directly at Kaidan. The commander kept his head straight, eyeing the other man sidelong. Kasumi's reminder of his own unwelcome fame trotted through the back of his mind, giving him a thrill of nervousness. But his polarized visor would conceal enough of his features to foil recognition systems. It could only be professional curiosity that drew the mercenary's eye, who were these new guns in town? Or so he hoped.

Like Noveria, each corporation seemed like a town unto itself, but instead of being separated by barren, snowy expanses, each holding abutted against the other, cheerfully competing with one another for materials and manpower. A ruthless cold-war battlefield maintained under a guise of peaceful business. In the distance, the towers that formed the city's heart reached into the clouds. Bekenstein eschewed the arcologies found on most colonies in favor of conspicuous displays of individual corporate wealth in the form of gleaming skyscrapers.

They'd deployed where the commercial sprawl gave way to a more industrial sector. The daytime shift was ending, spilling workers into the streets to find their rides home. These weren't the most privileged of the residents of Bekenstein, rather the everyman who'd managed to get a foothold in its harsh economy. It was almost shocking to see so many human civilians in one place again. Few of them paid much attention to Kaidan's group, who seemed to exist in their own heavily-armed bubble. The people chatted with each other and into invisible comm uplinks, some rushed, heads down, or just enjoyed the evening air. A man with a pair of large woolly dogs ambled past them, the master obliviously chattering on his uplink while his pets made a point of sniffing every available crack and cranny, as well as the toes of any passersby that wandered close enough. Past him, a man and woman seemed to be spending more effort on each other than just putting one foot in front of the other, arms entwined and laughing.

Despite himself, Kaidan's gaze wandered back to them, across a space that seemed kilometers wider than the few feet that separated them. The couple stopped to ruffle the heads of the dogs, who nosed at them with their tongues lolling out and tails wagging.

No, there was nothing strange about any of this. The strangeness was _him_, the moss of so much time spent in far-flung places grown over him like some alien skin. _Distance fatigue-_ that was the bland, inadequate name the psychs gave it. Gone were the days when a military deployment just meant the other side of the planet, immersed in a strange culture. Now distances were measured in thousands of light years, and strange was truly non-human. There were good reasons the brass encouraged leave time, a return to familiar trappings. The natural human urge to adapt could twist itself into truly strange behaviors, given enough time. They didn't like to spell it out, but the unspoken intent was clear- the Alliance Military had a vested interest in keeping its soldiers securely in the human fold.

Kaidan smirked to himself. It wasn't like he was going native, or alien. He'd just been out in space too long. But still, the odd feeling persisted. The amorous pair passed them, and for a fleeting moment, the woman glanced at him, her eyes traveling up from his torso to his visored face. Curious, casual, who knew. He was just another faceless rent-a-cop. Somewhere a few clicks to the west, his sniper and drone ops were moving into position, their more conspicuous hardware kept under wraps. A little further away, two more of his marines were playing dilettante under the nose of someone who would kill them in a heartbeat.

Above them, the land rose into an escarpment of sedimentary stone dotted with tree species imported from Earth. Hock's estate was clearly visible, presiding over his holdings like an indolent monarch slumped on his throne. Although precise plans where nowhere to be found, it was evident that an extensive network of tunnels had been drilled into the rock face, connecting the estate to the warehouses that hugged the bottom of the escarpment. From here, one of the most renowned illegal arms merchants in Alliance space managed his business.

Kaidan's HUD flashed, making his heart jump. It was one of several pre-arranged signals agreed upon before deployment, designed to keep communications as brief and indecipherable as possible. "Code two," he said quietly. "They're moving on the vault." He tapped his omni-tool, forwarding the same short code to Montrei and Amari. The tiny signals would be lost in the noise of local comm traffic.

They picked up their pace, aiming for the rendezvous marked out on their maps. A few minutes of walking and a few seemingly random turns, and on cue, the Spectre and her second, the one called Tarlo, appeared at the end of the alley. In the short time they'd had to prepare this operation, it had proven too difficult for Krannas and her turian contingent to procure weapon permits. Not so for Kaidan and his marines- Bekenstein customs officials had fewer such compunctions about humans. They made the exchange quickly, with few words. Kaidan felt better without the weight of the assault rifle on his back. The Spectre's gaze seemed to linger on him before she turned and headed away. Was it _still _doubt that kept him under her scrutiny?

Odell muttered a curse when they were out of earshot. Kaidan let it pass- they were all on edge. The chief's armor was missing one of its heavy ablative pauldrons, and under the new coat of paint the blast scoring from the LVMR was still visible. They paced through the increasingly empty streets, passing the automated freight haulers that serviced the warehouse district. They passed an entrance guarded by a half-dozen Eclipse mercenaries. Kaidan silently marked it on his local map. It could be the entrance they needed. Other such marks were appearing, added my Montrei, who was using his drones as spotters.

The shadows crept up the warehouse walls as time dragged on. A code appeared from Amari. Increased activity at the marked location, now blinking in his HUD. Kaidan flagged Odell and Tarasov, and they changed directions. Someone might have taken notice of the new 'guards' in the street. But for several minutes, they encountered no one.

Another code signal. Heavy armor sighted. Shocked, Kaidan broke radio silence immediately. "Amari. Report."

"A-61 Gunship, sir. Fully armed, type-M barrier. Closing in on landing pad three. I think-"

"It's opening fire!" Montrei cut in. "I see people on the pad... Shit, I think it's them! I can see Stenham!"

Distant gunfire echoed off the buildings around them, growing rapidly louder.

"Converge on their position!" Kaidan ordered, breaking into a run. "Amari, are you in range to skin the helo?"

"Already loading overcharge rounds," came the reply. "I think it's Hock flying it. No helmet."

"Getting pics," Montrei said.

The gunship jagged sideways through the sky above them, skimming sideways as its rotary cannon howled. Its kinetic barrier flashed and sparkled with impacts while its downthrusters shimmered the air, kicking up waves of dust in the street.

"Commander," Montrei said, "I've got visual on more incoming! At least two L-class transports, and they're close!"

"Ident?"

"Nothing, sir! One of them's headed for-"

The comm channel crackled and went dead. In Kaidan's HUD, his network connection to his other marines blinked out. He skidded to a stop.

Odell banged the side of his helmet with the heel of his hand. "Oh, _wonderful_."

"Commander..." Tarasov said. He squinted down the street behind them. "I think there's something coming."

Even as the words left his mouth, a group of armored figures boiled into the street from the intersection.

"Who the hell are they?"

The new arrivals answered the chief's question with a withering volley of gunfire, sending them lunging for cover. From behind the concrete divider, Kaidan glanced behind him, relieved to see both Odell and Tarasov made it unhurt. The chief was jamming a grenade into his rifle's launch rail, teeth bared.

"Are they Hock's?" Tarasov shouted, cringing away from the flying chips of concrete.

"They don't look like Eclipse!" Kaidan sprayed the end of the street with his SMG, trying to force the mercs into cover while he got a headcount. The attackers moved with crisp precision- they weren't amateurs. "Montrei said they were coming in from outside, but-"

A boom resounded somewhere a few blocks away, rattling windows. Kaidan could hear the mercs barking maneuvering codes to each other. Their comms were affected too. They must have been the ones to cause the blanket blackout, making the choice to scramble everyone, themselves included. To make such a risk, they'd come in with a plan. Another boom, and the distant sound of gunfire told him fighting had broken out in several places.

Kaidan glanced around his cover. The mercs were advancing fast, secure in their numbers. His team would be overwhelmed in seconds. He shouted Tarasov's name and jumped to his feet, signing a mnemonic form. From his right came an answering surge. The young biotic wasn't as strong as Kaidan, but fear of the death bearing down on them was a powerful motivator. Their two fields crashed together, amplifying each other. Gravity bucked like an an angry bull, sending the attackers flying into the air to a pean of startled shouts. Odell wasted no time, launching his grenade into the mercs behind the wave and then cutting into the flailing bodies in the air with precise bursts.

Up high between buildings, a flash caught Kaidan's eye. He glanced up in time to see the gunship sail past, black smoke pouring from a rent in the engine casing. He ducked back down in time to avoid a volley of gunfire. The ground under his feet vibrated, and a dull boom rolled down the streets. Another vehicle, a square-sided armored transport, crossed the intersection, rising on wide-open thrusters. The mercs shouted to each other, retreating to a new position as what seemed to be another front opened up on them, admitting another armored group, this time bearing the slashed sun of Eclipse mercenaries. The two groups wasted no time shooting at each other. As Kaidan tried to make sense of the rapidly shifting battlefield, a wave of thick black smoke boiled over his shoulder, bringing the acrid stink of burning fuel and plastic. In seconds, it washed down the street, reducing everything to a peasoup haze punctuated by shouting and muzzle flashes.

Something small flew past Kaidan's head, vanishing quickly into the smoke. He heard Tarasov swear. A flash, and a hot knife of neuroshock charge stabbed straight into his brain, making his vision dance and his muscles spasm. Robbed of breath, he stumbled and sagged against the street divider, his gun slipping from nerveless fingers. The crackle and bark of gunfire fell into an eerie distance with all the suddenness of a flipped switch. Distantly, he heard the sound of armored bodies hitting the ground.

Someone grabbed him from behind, forcing him into the concrete divider. There was a scrape, pressure, and a stab of pain erupted in the back of his neck. Dizziness swept through his skull, the feeling of being yanked away from reality. He swung his right arm back, hitting something with his elbow, but the blow was pathetically weak. Then something clamped down across that arm, pinning it. Ahead of him, a shadow loomed in the smoke. Kaidan threw out his left arm, trying to sign a mnemonic, but instead of a wave to be pushed, gravity was an iron wall. Flickers of lazy blue distortion danced across his arm, ineffectual as a light breeze. Panic gripped him by the throat. His amp connector had been cut.

The shadow in the smoke resolved itself into an armored turian. For a confused moment, Kaidan's heart jumped with hope, but Krannas only glanced in his direction for the briefest of moments, then back at the sky. The visor of her helmet was open, and her mandibles flicked up and down.

"This was _not _part of the deal!" she snapped to no one in particular. She whirled and jammed the muzzle of her pistol straight under Kaidan's visor with bruising force.

The world seemed to slow to a crawl, tunneling his vision down to the space just past the huge muzzle of the gun pressing into his cheekbone. He'd never noted the Spectre's eye color before- a dark green shot through with gold flecks. Her mandibles flared wide, giving a good view of her many sharp teeth. Her armor creaked when she leaned close. Hazy orange light picked out the rough topography of her facial plates, the grooves in the bridge of her nose.

"Curse you," she murmured. Her breath smelled of some otherworldy spice. The gun pressed harder into the flesh of his face.

"What-" he choked out.

"Shut up. You were dead the moment you set foot on my ship, Kaidan Alenko." Her nose twitched, scrunching upward.

"Yonaor an tetheru, Iridan," said a deep voice right behind him. Kaidan's translator made a soft tone of incomprehension, oblivious to his circumstances. His heart pounded in his ears.

A groan sounded from somewhere off to his right. He heard the slow scrape of armor against concrete, and the Spectre's eyes darted away, then back. The other turian spoke again, softly. A small tremor went through the gun pressed against Kaidan's face. Her eyes narrowed, and a breath drawn inward hissed around her teeth.

"Were," she breathed. "Curse you. I give you back your life."

"Jothra?" Kaidan heard the other turian say.

Krannas snapped something back to him, and the gun vanished. "No," she growled in her more familiar tongue, "I will not be treated so, not by anyone." Dark energy surged to life around her.

Kaidan felt himself heaved upward and back, the wound in his neck stinging sharply. A sudden, intense claustrophobia slammed down around him, clamping around his torso. He gasped as the gravity pressed in on his lungs from all sides, pinning his limbs. He was arced backward, facing the sky. Beyond the warehouse and the drifting smoke, twilight painted the clouds in streaks of orange. Distantly, he heard his name being called. The comms were clear again. His mind was yelling at him to stop panicking and focus on the dark energy field around him, but the power wouldn't answer him. It flickered weakly along his limbs, crushed by the field that held him.

Gravity snapped back to normal. The unforgiving ground came up and smacked him hard, bouncing his helmet off the pavement. His neck knifed a sharp pain, renewing the flood of wet warmth under his collar. He gasped for air, his vision swimming as he rolled over onto his knees. Instinctively he put a hand to the wound. Legs appeared in front of him, and he looked up into another gun. This time, Chief Odell was behind it.

"What the hell, what deal?" Odell shouted, brandishing the rifle.

Another figure came tottering unsteadily up behind the chief. Tarasov. "Sir, are you all right? What-"

"The Spectre was talking about some kind of deal! You sold us out!"

"Hey, stop!" Eyes round, Tarasov lurched forward and grabbed the end of Odell's rifle, shoving it down. "No he didn't!"

"Krannas wasn't talking to me, godammit!" Kaidan snapped. He pulled his hand away, saw the shiny slick on his gloved fingers. "I had a gun in my face!"

"Then what the hell-"

"I don't know!"

"Commander, you're bleeding-"

"Commander!" Montrei's near shout cut into the comms. "Are you there? I got a signal, but we have to move!"

Kaidan heard heavy footsteps coming up the lane. The smoke was starting to dissipate, blowing away down the blast-marked street. He pushed himself to his feet. "Private! What are you talking about?"

"Hock went down but those other mercs landed and grabbed our guys right off the roof!" The drone operator barreled into the street, skidding around the bulk of a fire retardant system jutting into the alley. "Drone transponder," he panted, waving his omni-tool. Amari rounded the corner on his heels.

One piece of an inscrutable puzzle clicked into place. A precisely targeted smash and grab op for Kasumi. It had to be. One of Hock's rivals? But the Spectre-

"I crashed drone Beta into their transport", Montrei babbled, "got the black box jammed into the superstructure! But the range on it won't last!"

"Can we get an uplink?" Amari said. "There must be a dozen Alliance sats up there!"

"We're not here, remember?" Kaidan said. "We don't have time to get bogged down in permissions. If they get off-planet, they're gone!" He shot a glare at Odell. "Chief, if you still feel like shooting me, then you better get it over with. Otherwise, we need a vehicle, stat!"

Amari's eyebrows went up, but Montrei was pawing at his tool. Images flashed across the display, aerial views. His drones' recon. "I saw... there! Come on!"

He took off at a run, and the rest of the squad pounded after him. Kaidan heard the whine of small thrusters and glanced up to see one of Montrei's other drones scooting along behind them. They turned a corner, then another, and swept into a side street where a nearly-empty transport stood open. Beside it, an automated forklift stood idle, a crate resting on its forks. As they approached, a man in a dun gray suit peered nervously out from the cover of the warehouse door. Odell accelerated into a charge as the man turned, startled.

"On your knees!" the chief roared, pushing his rifle into the man's face. "Key, now!"

A sick feeling rolled through Kaidan as he pounded up behind his ostensible second-in-command.

"Hey, screw you!" the civilian shouted back, backing away. "You can't just-"

Odell jerked the rifle back to smack the man across the face. Out of pure reflex, a shock of dark energy flashed across Kaidan's body, yearning to shove the Chief away before he could follow through. _This isn't- _Weak though it was, the man yelped and tried to jump back from Kaidan, his heel catching on the sidewalk. He fell back into an awkward sprawl, and Odell was on him. His face pale, Tarasov sauntered up behind the chief, his own body shimmering blue-black. He extended his hands, fingers splayed, a somewhat childish-looking attempt to be menacing.

A keystick materialized out of the man's pockets, flung toward the young biotic. He caught it with a flip of his wrist, hanging suspended in midair long enough for Kaidan to snatch it. Odell planted a boot on the civilian's behind and gave him a good shove, but Kaidan grabbed the chief by the shoulder and hauled him back toward the vehicle before the marine did anything worse. Kaidan's heart was in his throat as he herded his marines into the gravcar and threw himself into the driver's seat. Amari already had the vehicle's eezo core fired up and was powering up the engines. The drone obediently folded itself up at their feet.

"I lost it!" Montrei exclaimed in dismay.

"Not yet," Kaidan shot back. "I'll get us some height! Hang on to something."

His mind was a fire of conflicts threatening to dissolve his focus. _There had to be a better way. There was no time, no one was hurt, just spooked. We needed this vehicle or I lose two marines. _He punched the thrusters, sending the vehicle straight up. Warehouse structures flew past the the windows as he willed it to move faster.

"There! North north east!"

Kaidan glanced at the compass display inset near the ceiling and slewed the vehicle around, jamming the accelerator. "HUD it!"

"Incoming!"

"Stay on it! Amari, there's a transponder somewhere in this vehicle. See if you can shut it down."

The thrusters roared, pushing him back in his seat. Plaintive speed warnings beeped. Kaidan set his teeth, pushing down the choking waves of fear and uncertainty. Everything else - the Spectre, the new mercs, Hock - was inconsequential right now. This was not Horizon. He would _not_ lose another two marines.


	8. Sympathetic Paralysis

**Sympathetic Paralysis**

It was just another absurdity in what now seemed like many. It should have been no different from the last several, all the way back to bringing someone back from the dead. A task that now seemed completely reasonable by comparison.

After the mayhem outside, Jacob was relieved to finally get _inside_ the Broker's ship, at least for a short time. Then the long set of enormous hinged vanes that formed the port side of the chamber heaved itself inward with a roar, leering down on him, throwing off his balance. More mercs gave him something to focus on, a reason to block out everything but crosshairs. But the static in the air crawled along his nerves, singing in his biotic nodes. The ends of his fingers tingled. With each blast from his shotgun, the sensation crashed back along his arms, until he thought he was losing his strength. The Broker's ship was nothing but a lightning rod, roaring with each charge it dispersed along its length, each pulse of the shifting plates, burning off charge the way a heat sink burnt off heat.

For a moment, he saw the same hesitation in Shepard. The last merc was down, and the only way forward was going back outside, but they lingered an extra few seconds. None of them wanted to go back out there, to crawl along the perilously sloped sides of the Broker's ship in the howling winds and crashing thunder. It was T'soni who urged them on, using her worry for her friend as the whip to drive them. Jacob fixed the singular idea in his head that the Broker didn't conduct his many operations out in the horrific weather, and that somewhere ahead was a door _inside_.

Until they got inside, he could tell himself the cold sweat flowing freely under his armor was a normal reaction, borne of watching the hapless mercs Liara heaved into the howling airstream disappear with thin wails of terror. Of straining every ounce of his will into keeping his feet firmly planted on the thick plating that sheathed the ship. But the feeling didn't recede, not even when they finally located the long-errant drell, Feron.

But of course finding Feron didn't get them a great deal further along, since he was strapped into what appeared to be a boody-trapped torture device. Someone, it was agreed, had to stay on guard in case more of the Broker's mercenaries arrived behind them. It would be no help if the Broker could suddenly use Feron as a hostage. It was intense relief that flooded through Jacob when Shepard pointed in his direction, followed quickly by a certain embarrassment. But if she noticed, she didn't say anything, distracted instead by the closeness of their target. And then the huge door cycled shut behind Shepard, Garrus and Liara, and quiet reigned in the strange interrogation bay.

For a moment, anyway.

"So that's it, huh?" Feron said, craning his neck to look at the door through which the others had disappeared. "The package the Collectors wanted so badly." He was still bound in place, but Liara's appearance seemed to have injected a certain life back into his voice.

"It," Jacob replied. "You mean, 'her'?"

"Wasn't much of a 'her' last time I saw Shepard. More like a briquette."

Jacob examined the holoconsole overlooking the drell's uncomfortable accommodations. It was a complicated array of controls in a text he didn't recognize, and formatted in a way that couldn't possibly have been designed by someone with any concern for user-friendliness. Small wonder Shepard hadn't been willing to risk tampering with it. "Nice thing to say about the person saving your skin."

A wry smile creased the drell's mouth. "Being shocked at irregular intervals for so long does strange things to one's sense of humor. I'd be obliged if you didn't touch that."

Jacob glanced up. "Wasn't planning on it." He turned to peer down the sectioned hallway. He didn't like having two entrances to deal with, a third behind him through which Shepard had vanished. This was not a very defensible position.

_The _Normandy_'s CIC is not a defensible position. Not made to repel an assault, one that by all accounts was rapidly spreading through the ship. The small display above the elevator door is ticking down. _

"That's good. I didn't take you for the technical type. And while my rather tender parts are attached to electrodes, I'd rather not be in the hands of an amateur."

"Amateur?"

Feron thrust his chin forward. "Shotguns. Not precision tools."

_Might fix one annoyance in here._ The unworthy thought crept across Jacob's thoughts, unvoiced. He tried breathing a deep, slow breath, counting down the time between. His nerves were raw.

"People who care about the correct alignment of bits also tend to care about excess property damage, you know? Uh... oh, here comes trouble," Feron's voice caught a singsong tilt.

"What?"

The door off to their left clanked. Jacob whirled, but for a moment the door didn't look like it was supposed to. He remembered the bugs boiling out of the elevator. He remembered pushing his barrier out, as far out as he could manage, his blood pounding in his ears. Turning back to see Eagleton go down, crimson staining the white of his uniform. Goldstein's yelp of terror, the flash of his open mouth, the shrieking synthetic whine of the massed insects.

Adrenaline.

_He shatters the chitin of the first Collector that steps out of the elevator. As the body topples, a bright lance of yellow light sears the air, tracing smoking lines across the CIC deck, slicing the arm off the dying drone. It illustrates a point Mordin sees fit to repeatedly make, though Jacob knows it well enough- his kinetic barrier is useless against a directed energy weapon. He pulls the trigger, and nothing happens. He has only a moment to gape, swear, and shove Moreau into the stairwell. The ship, the guns themselves have turned against them. The sweep of the status consoles gives him nowhere to hide. The effort of the barrier is making him pant for breath. In the corner of his eye, Goldstein topples over. Paralyzed or dead, Jacob can't tell. Gunfire turns on him, pulsing against the barrier. They'll make short work of him now._

_But they don't need to. The Collectors' strange rifles click off as he feels something stab into his lower back. Reflexively, his hand reaches back, but the movement slows as a weight like no other he's ever felt wraps itself around him. Suddenly there's an elcor sitting on his chest, drawing tight around his ribcage. His nerves grope for the dark energy, but the feeling slips away from him, slithers through his grip. Something flickers in the air as his limbs freeze solid._

_Panic is eating up his oxygen, and his ribs won't expand to draw in more. Blackness starts creeping into his tunneling vision. But it doesn't block out the rows of eyes approaching him. There's no curiosity, no arrogance, no hate in their non-faces. As they watch him, there's nothing at all in those pale yellow globes, only the vast emptiness of a being whose very will has been engineered away._

_Jacob only realizes he's falling when the ceiling tips into view-_

_Not frozen!_

There were bodies in the doorway, but they weren't Collectors. They had faces, wide eyes and fixed grimaces in the fiery combination of aggression and fear. A wave of blue fire rolled off Jacob's arm, crashing into the doorway. He reached out and _twisted_- and the attackers lurched forward, stumbling, into his shotgun. One died right then, his barrier overwhelmed by the Eviscerator's storm of rounds. Jacob saw a round leave the grenade rail of of a rifle, firing wildly as its owner landed on her knees. He heard the thud of it ricocheting off the ceiling and wall far to his right.

He could only spare a fleeting thought for that stray explosive, enough to hope it landed on the far side of the room. Outnumbered, he had to concentrate on dropping his opponents as fast as possible. He registered the gun raised in his direction, but made the lighting decision to let his barrier eat the shot, buying him the seconds to pump another few rounds into the opening afforded by the merc who'd fallen down. The impacts were still stunning, and it was only the virtue of the shotgun's spray that his last shot sent one of the Eviscerator's serrated disks through his enemy's visor, painting it red.

The grenade exploded, mingling with a startled yelp somewhere behind him. A body moved to his left. He twisted, rolling his torso sideways just in time to cause most of the shotgun blast to hiss past, sparkling his barrier. His own shotgun barked in answer, shocking recoil down his arm. He was close enough to see the mottled skin and complicated markings of the asari that had vaulted over the divider, the white of her bared teeth and dark blue eyes. The impact of his shot hit her square, knocking her back with a loud grunt of breath forced from her lungs. Her weapon fired wildly, but still caught him low on his left side with a numbing shock.

The asari was recovering, lurching toward him with a snarl. He fired again, and she shifted into a dodge, straight into the dark energy field he pushed into being. It was a trick that bought him the envy of those he trained with, a mnemonic he could pull off with both hands occupied, and it saved his life. The field was weak, but enough to send her shotgun blast wide as her feet left the ground.

For his part, he didn't miss.

_Collector bastards just leave him there, staring at the CIC ceiling. The silence is deafening. Everything is distant, even his own body. He can't even strain against it, because he can't feel what to flex. He's a brain in a jar, connected to nothing but a set of eyes and the thin stream of air he can manage to force into his lungs. Shadows shift, just out of sight-_

"Are... they dead?" came a querulous voice, cutting through the sudden quiet.

Jacob blinked, heartbeat pounding in his ears. His nerves danced, flickering distortion across his limbs. He flexed his hands gripping the shotgun, relieved to see them move. His body, trembling and sore though it was, was his. The asari was trying to breathe. Pink bubbles fizzled around the lacerations in her torso armor, escaping air from punctured lungs. Her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as her lips twitched, perhaps trying to form a word. He kicked her gun well out of reach, then scanned the other mercenaries, looking for signs of an act, but they remained still.

"Anyone alive out there?" Feron asked again, his voice bouncing off the ceiling.

"Yeah," Jacob answered. "You in one piece?"

The asari made a soft gurgling sound. When Jacob looked back, she'd stopped moving. He pressed a hand into the bruised flesh on his hip and winced. The impact gel was hot even through his gloves, burning off the excess kinetic energy. Close one. It would hurt for a week, but nothing worse than that.

"Kalihira's crest, man," Feron said. "My nerves aren't what they used to be."

Jacob rounded the divider and looked down into the holding bay. The grenade had scorched the wall off to the drell's left. One of the monitor displays hung by a shredded cable, but the sunken floor had sent the pressure wave over his head. "How did you know they were coming?"

The alien made a small sound between his teeth. "Not sure, not sure... Been here a little too long, you know? Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Hm, that's a bad sign."

Jacob suppressed a sigh. The doors stayed shut. The room hummed with the flat tone of distant air scrubbers, punctuated by the soft plink of gun casings cooling around their sinks. He tried once again not to think of the space yawning under this strange ship, the perpetual migrating cataclysm of this world's electric terminal. Somehow, the deadly emptiness of the vacuum of space was less disconcerting. The hum kept trying to turn into the buzzing whine.

_They leave him there just long enough for him to hope they've gone and the paralytic will wear off. He doesn't even feel it when they lift him, but the landscape in front of his eyes, static since they left, jerks around without warning. They say nothing as he's placed in a pod. He wants to shout at them, he wants those dead faces to show something, even if it's contempt for their captured prey. That, at least, he can understand. _

"I mean, maybe you just don't hear it," Feron went on, "or maybe there actually is nothing and it's all in my head."

Jacob scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to force his head back into the now. "You a biotic?"

"Not last I checked. One could hope, though? Maybe all this stuff the Broker's been pumping me with will awaken some latent superpowers. That would be fun, right? I could live with that. What's taking Shepard so long?"

"They just left."

"Did they?" Feron's head dropped back on the headrest. He muttered to himself, then it snapped back up. "Hey, have you noticed? I haven't been shocked in... in... How long has it been?"

A dull thud resonated through the structure, coming from far away.

"Heard that."

"Oh good!" Feron exclaimed. "It would've been worrisome if you hadn't."

It came again, louder this time.

"I hope they're not being eaten," the drell said. "They came an awfully long way to get eaten. That's what some of them talk about, the guards, when they think no one is listening."

"You hear a lot for a guy with no ears."

Feron actually looked affronted. He lifted his chin. "This lovely frill isn't for decoration, my human friend. And if you ask me, it's a much more refined solution than those ridiculous growths popping out of the side of your heads. Who thought those were a good idea?"

Jacob glanced back at the doors toward the center of the Broker's lair. "You don't know anything at all about what's back there?"

"That depends on how seriously you take the testimony of someone who was drugged into insensibility at the time."

"So whatever it is talked to you?"

"Talk would be a... generous description. The Broker wanted information."

"On what?"

"Anything. Anything I knew, he wanted to know. Kept me on ice for a while, out of the way. But he woke me up a little while ago, strapped me down and started asking about Cerberus."

The why of that seemed obvious enough. After losing his prize, the Broker must have been more than a little incensed to learn that Shepard was once again alive and well, and moving against his erstwhile business partners.

_Time has no meaning behind the glazed wall of the pod. Is it an extra dose of cruelty that the lid is somewhat transparent? Floating in the haze of non-space, he wonders if they're even capable of understanding cruelty anymore. He remembers, dimly, pitying those that had once given so much of themselves to pass a sliver of hope on to the next wave of sentient species. Now they're slaves, twisted beyond all recognition._

_It's that thought that lingers, and as the hours drag by, slowly curdles into terror. What if that's what the Collectors are doing? The stories say they only take a few individuals, but now it's obvious they want as many humans as they can get their claws on. What if humans are to be the next crew of mindless drones? And it's then the memory of the their exploration of the Collector ship bubbles up- among the piles of discarded clothes and weapons, a dead Collector lies flensed of its outer skin, hooked up to strange equipment. Trapped with nothing but his own thoughts, he starts to see himself strapped to that table, his flesh peeled away-_

The bang was loud enough this time to shake Jacob from the memory, forcing him to swallow the bile crawling up his throat. The lights flickered. Something was causing power fluctuations.

"On second thought, the Broker probably won't eat Shepard," Feron mused. "He'd try to sell her to the Collectors again, I'll bet."

"The Collectors are dead," Jacob grated.

The stunned silence was gratifying, but brief. "What, all of them?"

"Blew their base and their flagship, so I damn well hope so."

"That's the second best news I've gotten today. Well, except that it might mean Shepard's back on the menu."

"I should be in there."

"Then go. It's not like I can get far."

"Can't. Shepard gave an order."

"You don't want to."

"Excuse me?"

Feron's dark eyes grew wide. "Just an observation! Seems like the smartest decision, if you ask me! What could be in there? At first I thought it would be a bank of computers or a VI. I mean, wouldn't that make sense? But no, it's a something. Big, and I think it has a lot of pointed bits-"

"Would you please shut up?" Jacob grated between his teeth.

_I'm obeying orders._

The sounds from deeper in the station mocked him, coming faster now. The broken display sputtered fitfully, creaking on its loose thread of cabling.

_Right?_

Feron was talking again, but Jacob ignored it. Lurking just out of sight was the last and most terrible memory of the Collector ship, watching in utter helplessness as Goldstein was _processed_- skinned and slowly rendered in the most horrifying anatomy lesson imaginable. The moment he realized his fate was far worse than an alien operating table.

The shotgun seemed like lead in his grip. He could just... leave. Not this room, but this damned mission. Finish his business and go, like several of the crew had. The thought startled him, abrupt as it was. And yet, it wasn't an unfamiliar- a total change of horizon had worked before. Given him distance from the memories of Eden Prime, the maddening frustrations of Alliance politics. Getting away from the _Normandy_ and everything it was dragging along might be the smartest thing-

The lights flickered.

_Why am I standing around like I'm still stuck in that damn pod?_

The door was opening before he realized what he was doing, but Jacob only pushed himself into a run, down the vaulted corridor. Feron had said big. Had to be a krogan. He'd fought plenty of krogan, and even the biggest of those brutes bled.

When the final door ground open, he got the brief impression of a large room now torn half to shreds. The pockmarks of gunfire lined the walls, and some of the supporting pillar structures had been torn from their moorings. Across the room, he caught sight of what must be the top of Liara's head moving behind the railing of a raised dais. Just as he opened his mouth to call her name, he cleared enough of the dented pillar to his right to catch sight of what was behind it.

A mountain in a dark blue jacket turned, shoulders rolling like loose boulders under a thin sheet. Perched at its apex was a living nightmare- horned, ruddy red, with far too many eyes and a fang-filled mouth with too many corners. Jacob's blood froze. A tree-trunk arm lashed out. Reflex alone turned Jacob's shotgun sideways into the blow, shunting the worst of the impact into his arms, but the air still left his lungs in a rush. He slammed back into the wall, knocking his head hard. Gunfire chattered. Dazed, he let the wrecked shotgun slip from nerveless fingers and groped for his pistol, trying to force his vision to stop spinning in front of him.

The mountain blotted out the lights. Jacob pointed his pistol and fired, pumping the trigger until the heat sink hissed. He heard his name called. Just in front of him was Shepard's armored back. Jacob watched, stunned, as she balled up a fist and _punched_ the monster square in its misbegotten jaw, once, twice, three times, forcing it back a step. The creature tried to bring its massive arm down on the commander, but was answered with a wave of dark energy straight to the chest, sending it stumbling further toward the center of the room.

"Liara!" Shepard shouted, jumping back.

Gravity heaved and swelled, shimmering in cascades of blue-black distortion. Jacob could feel two fields shuddering against each other. All at once, they fell into synergy, feeding off each other and snowballing into a crescendo of shearing force. There was an ear-splitting crash, laced with the shriek of tearing metal and a swell of static that made his every hair stand on end. Everything went black.

And yet, Jacob felt it when his knees hit the ground. The brief jolt was welcome, the raw stink of ozone a benediction. Air flowed freely into his aching chest. Sharp and present, they highlighted the sound of a massive body slumping to the deck plating, the weary panting of his teammates. He wet his dry lips just for the feeling of being able to to do it.

He gripped his pistol in the dark. _I could just... get out of here._


	9. Encryption Threading

**Encryption Threading**

Maybe it was the insanity of the Mako's last ride, but hard landings didn't phase Kaidan nearly as much as they might have at one time. Nothing could really compare to being slingshotted halfway across the galaxy in a tank. He felt it, faintly, when the transport's a-grav drive sputtered, but they were already on their way down. He shouted the warning, gripped the steering column hard, and pulsed the thrusters once, enough to punt the heavy vehicle forward to clear the retaining wall around the landing bay. A landing bay occupied by two of the troop carriers he'd seen just minutes ago, outside Hock's warehouses.

Those same carriers proved fortuitous. By the time they cleared the wall, Kaidan's heavy transport, whose sturdy bulk had provided at least a modicum more protection than a civilian gravcar would have, was hardly fit for an elegant landing. Through the shattered windscreen he saw the mercs scatter like startled mice. Kaidan fired the reverse thrusters, arresting some of their forward momentum, and the transport dropped the final meters onto the carriers with the resounding crunch of crumpling frames.

The back door was already open. Their drone, unperturbed by the mayhem, beetled straight out and began firing. The machine and a serving of grenades bought them time to collect their bruised selves and pile out of the shattered vehicle. If the mercs hadn't believed they could bring down the transport bearing down on them, they certainly hadn't imagined its pilot would risk a harebrained ditch in an already occupied landing bay. He could hardly believe it himself. Either way, the disarray gave them the narrow advantage into which they charged. Kaidan hit the ground running, pistol in his left hand. Rounds were flying in all directions. He reached out to grip the local gravity.

The air shimmered weakly. Kaidan's stomach plunged just as his armor barrier flickered and whined at him. He was wide open. He dodged into cover, cursing in embarrassment. Across from him, he spotted a merc lying crumpled against a loading crane.

When his shield capacitors had recovered, Kaidan scooted over to the dead merc and scooped up the woman's discarded assault rifle. The gun's stock battered his shoulder when he fired it, his aim flying wide. _Stupid amateur, Alenko. You know how to do this._ He gripped the weapon tighter, set the stock properly, and squeezed off a few more rounds, pulsing the trigger in controlled bursts. This time the rounds went more or less where he wanted them, stitching a line of impacts across an enemy's hiding place and flaring the man's barrier. The gun had a satisfying punch, but it meant controlling the equally powerful recoil- something he usually couldn't spare. The thing rattled his teeth.

The wave of reality Kaidan had managed to avoid thinking about up until now crested and crashed down around his ears. His amp was dead, his biotics reduced to the pale flutter of his natural baseline. The extra shielding was gone, as was what he'd always considered his main weapon and his contingency, more flexible than any firearm. A sick realization chilled his guts- in all his years of service, he'd never actually been in a real firefight without it.

And if he panicked or made a bad call, it could cost him his life, or worse, one of his marines.

Tarasov was beside him, looking from him to the rifle with wide eyes. "Sir, what-"

"My amp got clipped," Kaidan said, pointing to the back of his neck, "back in the alley."

The young marine gawked at him for a moment. "You... you want mine?"

"Won't work anyway." It was a half truth, and Kaidan marshaled it to crush the wild urge to accept the offer. Even if there'd been any time to pull a switch, all it would do was push the problem to someone else.

"But you won't be able to-"

"Private!" Kaidan snapped. He choked back anger born of the young biotic's reflected doubt, doubt now crawling under his own skin. "We lost a weapon, Tarasov, not the fight!"

"Commander!" It was the sniper's voice.

Kaidan looked around in time to see a rifle tumbling through the air toward him. He caught it with his free hand, and looked across to where Amari was crouched.

"The one you picked up has a shitty MV mod, screws accuracy," she explained, conversational despite the noise.

He nodded to her, dropped the other rifle and raised the new one. It had the stylized mountain logo of Rosenkov Materials stamped on the casing. Square and rather ugly, but powerful. Amari's sniper rifle cracked, knocking a merc of her feet, and another died under Odell's fire, chased out of cover by the drone. Abrupt as always, suddenly there were no more red dots in his HUD.

_I hate assault rifles. _"Odell, Amari, on the door," Kaidan ordered. "Montrei, check the mercs for extra grenades, but be fast, we have to move."

He watched them carry out the orders. Some of the best soldiers in the Alliance. If he spent any energy bemoaning his own deficiency, he'd forget_ they _were his weapons, his team.

As they advanced into the building, Kaidan was overly aware of his tactical movement. He'd been relying on biotics to inform his every decision for so long, he may as well have been back in the training sims. Manhandling the heavy rifle, he felt clumsy next to his team, who all moved with the smooth precision of experience. It was instinct to them- his own instinct had a very large hole in it.

_You know how to do this. Stop thinking and _do_ it._

Beyond the entrance hall was a staging area. Weapon racks and armor lockers lined the walls on one side, and the other was stacked was supply crates marked with ordinance warnings.

"Sir," Odell said. He pointed to the floor, where a dark liquid streak was smeared along the tiles.

"Bad sign," Amari said.

"Could be anyone's. Move," Kaidan pointed at the far door. Despite the dire circumstances, being outnumbered and taken off guard, they'd managed to turn the tide- at least tenuously. Hesitation now would tip the balance back. He was starting to understand, first-hand, Shepard's precipitous approach to problems; momentum. The question crept through the back of his mind- was her heart in her throat the whole time too?

The door opened into a hallway going in both directions. The decor was utilitarian, with power and data cables snaking across the ceiling. There was a holoconsole mounted on the wall flashing a red alert symbol.

"I've got movement," Montrei murmured. "Two shield sigs to the right and ahead. I think-"

A sharp crack echoed down the hallway. Kaidan raised his fist to squad halt and signaled silence, then continued, rifle ready. Other sounds bounced off the walls, the quick shuffle of feet and the sound of armor hitting the ground. A moment later, someone wheeled around the corner right in front of him, a strange-looking submachine gun held low. She was looking behind her, but when her hood swiveled back she gave a startled squeak and skittered to a halt.

"Oh!" Kasumi burst out. "You're a welcome sight!"

A lightning thought blazed through Kaidan's mind, forcing his arms to keep the rifle up and aimed at her. What if _she'd_ set them all up? Hired these goons and played them all? The truth was he knew nothing about her, instead he'd allowed himself to be swayed by a pretty face and a sob story about a dead lover. He'd let himself believe it far too easily. Even the Spectre had turned on them.

Her eyes grew round and a little cross-eyed at the muzzle pointed dead center on her face. "Alenko-san-"

"I'm having a lot of trouble trusting anyone right now," he said between his teeth, enunciating each word.

"Ah... Point taken."

"Where are my marines?"

"I was with them a few minutes ago. I'll help you find them, they can't be far."

"You'll disappear the moment you need to."

Her eyes flashed with an indignant grimace, but instead of a retort, she lowered her head. Then she reached across her body and fiddled with something at her waist. Kaidan heard a soft pop, and she held a small socketed square of metal out to him. "Here. It's the main breaker for the scatter system. I'm not going anywhere without Keiji's greybox, and now I can't disappear."

Kaidan looked from her face to the device and back again. Then he lowered his weapon and took it. "All right. What do you know?"

"They were taking me somewhere, probably to try to beat the encryption out of me. That's when I slipped the cuffs. When they dragged us in from the landing bay, we split... back at the corridor marked in green. This way." She pointed back the way they'd come.

Kaidan stepped forward and poked his head around the corner. Down the hallway was an open door. A set of armored legs stuck akimbo out into the hall, not moving.

"On me!" Kaidan said into his comms, turning to follow her.

Odell peeled himself off the corner he was covering as they passed. "Commander..." the chief said, eyeing the thief trotting ahead of them.

Kaidan just nodded. The chief's suspicion was understandable, but somehow, his own mistrust wasn't finding a lot of traction. Whether or not he could trust that instinct was another matter.

"Here's where we split," Kasumi said when they got to an intersection.

They passed a room that looked like temporary quarters, but it was unoccupied. Kaidan's onboard VI was attempting a crude map of the hallways, displaying it in his HUD. Based on the turns, he guessed this building wasn't large. They had to be close.

"Sigs," Montrei mumured.

Kaidan signaled a halt, approached the intersection and looked around. There was a group of five armed guards standing in the hallway, and they were expecting trouble. Kaidan had to backpedal to get out of the line of fire before they shredded him to pieces, crashing into Odell and Montrei.

He should have been able to blow the lot of them down with a gesture. _Damn it._"Tarasov!" he barked.

By the look on his face, it was evident front and center was not where the young biotic was used to being, not when his L2 commanding officer usually did most of the proverbial heavy lifting. Kaidan caught his gaze and gave him a deliberate nod. Tarasov's mouth set into a line. He flared blue, fists clenched. Kaidan pointed to Odell, then the two of them stretched their weapons around the corner and fired blind.

"Hit 'em!" Odell urged him.

Tarasov walked deliberately into the intersection, set his feet, and threw out both hands, filling the air with blue distortion. There were startled shouts, and the return fire scattered away along the walls. Kaidan and Odell twisted around the corner. Four of the mercs were down, but one held his ground, braced against a doorframe. He fired on Tarasov.

Tarasov staggered back. Kaidan jumped into the gap, letting the assault rifle open up to full. There was an undeniable, vicious thrill to the sheer power of the gun as it tore a merc's armor to pieces. Odell gunned down another, and the drone and Montrei a third. Amari staggered one with a sniper shot, but he and the last guard managed to scramble away through a door.

"Nice one!" Kasumi crowed, extending a hand to Tarasov. "You okay?"

"Ow," Tarasov muttered, grinning sheepishly. He accepted the hand up. His barrier had taken the worst of it, leaving his armor un-punctured.

"They're running," Montrei reported, looking at his omni-tool.

"Yeah, to get their friends." Kaidan moved down the hall. The guards had been standing in front of a row of narrow doors. "Get those doors open!" A moment of fiddling around with the lock on the first persuaded it to flash green, and it opened. The room beyond was small, unadorned but for a bench and a grate in the back corner floor. A holding cell, and a spartan one at that. Empty.

"Here!" Odell said.

Kaidan rushed over to the other cell, and relief flooded through him. Both his marines were there, still armored, their hands bound in thick restraint cuffs.

"Commander!" Wickham lurched to her feet. "I knew all that noise _had _to be good news."

"My hero," Stenham drawled. He looked pale. The corporal's armor was pitted, the weave punctured in several places across his left hip and leg. Dark streaks painted the armor all the way down to his feet.

Kaidan crouched to check the wound. The shiny slick of hardened medi-gel filled up each hole.

"Least they didn't want me leaking all over their damn ship," Stenham commented, his voice slurring. His mexo had pumped him full of painkillers. With his armor back on the team network, Kaidan could see the corporal's vitals were stable, but he'd lost a lot of blood.

"I've got incoming, Commander," Montrei warned. "Reinforcements."

"Get those cuffs off," Kaidan ordered.

"There's a room over here, Commander," Amari said from out in the hall. "Looks like a server bay. Lots of cover and a second entrance."

They couldn't move fast with Stenham's wounds. A defensible position would have to do. "Everyone get over there."

The cuffs finally came free under Montrei's hands. Kaidan helped Wickham heave the corporal up and steer him out into the hall and across to where Amari stood by an open door.

The room beyond was sheeted in noise-deadening siding and rubberized diamondplate floors. Large racks of computer equipment rose floor-to-ceiling in orderly rows, each connected to thick bundles of cables that ran in all directions. A constellation of brilliant little lights illuminated the sides of each pillar. Cool air washed against Kaidan's face as he advanced.

A rumble sounded from somewhere outside, the pounding of boots.

"They're coming."

"Spread out," Kaidan ordered. "Get in cover." He lowered Stehman to the ground next to a thick pylon and handed him his pistol. "Odell, keep an eye on that other door."

"Aye."

A tense few seconds, then the door cycled open, and three small spheres tumbled through. Kaidan shouted a warning, but his marines were already pulling clear when the grenades detonated, punching the air. Shrapnel whined past his hiding place, followed by a burst of smoke. Heavy bootsteps thudded into the room. Kaidan poked his head out to see several mercs moving down the alleys, rifles raised to their shoulders.

One of them folded over, her neck transfixed by a sniper round. Gunfire exploded in both directions, blunting the merc's headlong charge and forcing them back into cover. The air itself roared, sparks and fragments of the support walls flying every which way. His amp may have been useless, but mercifully his HUD was not, filtering the worst of the noise and laying out the battlefield for him. There was a loud clap and a hiss. Kaidan looked up to see geysers of white smoke spewing from vents in the ceiling.

"What the-"

"Seal up! Now!" Kaidan thumbed the lock stud behind the guard on his helmet, and his atmospheric visor cycled shut.

Kaidan's HUD popped up a small warning in yellow. _Atmospheric contaminant detected; Bromotrifluoromethane; organic halide (Halon 1301). Caution._

"Fire suppression!" Montrei shouted, his voice distorting as his own helmet sealed.

The rack beside the commander exploded, raining metal pieces off his armor. He leaned out and fired haphazardly across the room, peppering the walls and whatever moved in the billowing gas.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" Kasumi said.

He glanced at her. She had one gloved hand clamped over her mouth as she fired her SMG. He had no time to root through his omni-tool for an answer, so he switched to team comms. "Montrei, is this stuff lethal?"

"No sir!" Montrei panted. "Mild neuro effects only, not permanent!"

There was a gravitic lurch somewhere deeper in the room, and the distinctive roar of a shotgun. Down the lane to his left, Kaidan saw Amari stumble out of cover, chased by the thud of a grenade and a spray of debris. Wickham shoved her out of the way, the chief's shield absorbing the worst of the fire as they both hit the ground between the neighboring pylons. Too close. Frustration roared in Kaidan's skull, magma-hot. He'd never felt so useless. He should have been able to turn this fight single-handed. Instead, he was stuck behind cover, looking for an opening. Down the lanes of servers, bodies moved in the smoky air. Kaidan fired at them, but couldn't land a solid hit. He heard a cough behind him.

Kasumi crouched there, her eyes wide. "My fingers are tingling-"

Kaidan hooked his arm under hers and dragged her up, gesturing down the lane with his gun. "Flashbang the right!"

"I-"

"The gas won't hurt you! Do it!" He glanced to his left, where Stenham was propped against the wall, pistol ready. Montrei's drone perched beside him, its narrow head tracking for hostiles. It would have to do.

The flash strobed the walls. Kaidan lurched up and barreled around the corner, spraying rounds from his rifle. He caught sight of two armored bodies, one hunkered down behind a console bay and the other standing. The closest merc had a chance to look up at him, his wide eyes evident under his visor before Kaidan adjusted his stride and hauled his leg up sharply. His boot connected with the man's chin, sending him tumbling backward. The instinct hit hard again, his left hand moving to take command of the gun so his right could throw dark energy. He arrested the move in time to clamp down on his weapon and fire, forcing the second merc back and finally shredding his kinetic barrier.

A third mercenary emerged from behind the stack, and he already had his gun raised. Kaidan twisted, but the rounds still hit him full force, flaring bright against his shields. His armor whined warnings at him as he tried to back up, but his heel caught against the leg of the merc he'd kicked in the face and he fell back, hitting the ground hard.

Falling out of the line of fire bought him an extra second, affording him enough time to consider how much trouble he was in, when dark-suited form vaulted over the consoles and landed on the attacking merc's back. There was the fleeting view of something in her right hand as she raised it high, then a flash, and her fist came down somewhere on the merc's lower back. He stiffened, eyes going wide, then toppled over without a sound, gun dropping from his fingers. Kasumi hopped lightly to her feet and regarded Kaidan sidelong.

"That was stupid," she commented, flicking her wrist. A whip thin nano-_something_ disappeared from view.

"Yeah," he grunted, "but it worked."

Kasumi giggled oddly, then shook her head, pressing her fingers to her forehead. He climbed quickly to his feet and waved to her to follow, moving down the now-clear flank. There was another spatter of gunfire, then the room went quiet.

"Marines!" Kaidan barked. "Status."

"Think this lot's down," Odell replied from somewhere across the room.

"This side's clear!" Tarasov supplied.

"I'm getting shield sigs from the other side of this door," Montrei said.

Kaidan rounded the smoking server racks, stepping over armored bodies. Amari and Odell were next to the new entrance, braced against the frame.

"Wickham?"

In answer, she came up behind him, Stenham limping along beside with a long arm draped over her shoulders. The drone hovered behind them.

"You two stay back," Kaidan said to them. He moved to the doorway, nodding to Odell. "Open and clear."

The door opened on command, and they bolted through. Beyond was a dark room set with more consoles, this time lit up with various holodisplays. Kaidan immediately recognized it as communications equipment, and not the inexpensive kind. This rig could probably run interstellar comms. There was an armored man standing in front of the display, madly hammering at the commands. To his left, a half-dozen plainclothed humans and one salarian were spinning around to face the new intrusion. Their expressions of fear made it clear they weren't an immediate threat.

At least he hoped so. "Non-coms, hold your fire," Kaidan said into the team channel, then raised his voice, waving his rifle at the assembled group. "You! On your knees, hands behind your heads!"

Odell echoed the order, louder, and laced with the threat of imminent violence. The frightened civilians stumbled to comply. The marines spread out a little to cover the room, but Kaidan kept himself in front of Wickham and the corporal. He waved at Montri to shut the door and stole a look at Kasumi. She was making an obvious effort to focus, breathing in deep gulps, but she seemed otherwise unhurt.

"Commander," came Amari's smooth tone in his ear. "Our friend by the console is armed. Looks twitchy."

"Stay on him."

"There was more than one shield sig," Montrei said. "Where're the other ones?"

As if in answer, the far door cycled open. Spectre Krannas marched through, her outline scattered by a shimmering biotic barrier. The armored turian she'd landed with, the one named Tarlo, paced along on her heels.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Tarasov murmured.

Kaidan assumed they were working together, and yet the man at the console seemed no more informed of why she was there, staring at her open-mouthed. "Spectre-"

Without breaking stride, she raised her hand and closed her fist. Dark energy wrapped itself around him, freezing him in place. Then she went up to the console and plucked something out of an I/O port. Several displays went dark.

Kasumi slipped up beside Kaidan. "That's the greybox."

Krannas raised her pistol and fired at the merc. The dark energy flickered out. Kaidan couldn't help but admire the cold precision of each shot- three in a neat triangle to the outer torso, each flaring the man's kinetic barrier until it gave the telltale spark of overload, then the last right through the knee, just above the heavy ablating. The operative gave a choked gasp and collapsed, clutching his leg. Several of the kneeling civilians cowered in dismay.

The Spectre ignored them and kicked the man's rifle away, then turned to the dark display he'd been looking at. "Shadow Broker!"

Odell swore. A chilly feeling crawled up Kaidan's back. The goddamn Shadow Broker. Of _course_ the Shadow Broker would be interested in the Anudir Incident-

"I know you're monitoring this location!" Krannas shouted. "Show yourself!"

There was a breathless silence, then the display flickered to life with a voice-only icon. "This is the Shadow Broker," said a too-loud, modulated drone. "Situation under control. We experienced a power fluctuation while upgrading hardware. It disrupted communications momentarily. However, we are now back online. Resume standard procedures. I want a status report on all operations within the next solar day. Shadow Broker out."

The holo snapped off.

"That was weird," Wickham observed.

Krannas started touching controls on the console. After a moment, she growled and stepped back. "Shadow Broker! I know you can hear me!"

There was another long pause, then a holo sprang to life. It was a waist-up humanoid figure, but the features were vague, the face blank as a tailor's dummy.

"Spectre... Krannas," the voice intoned, coming from somewhere behind the banks of equipment. The holo wavered and resolved itself, lines of static sparking down the image.

The turian planted her hands on her hips. "Broker. We had an agreement. I demand an explanation for the actions of your operatives."

The holographic head turned, shadowed by the glint of a camera lens inset above the console. "Operative Lin," the voice boomed.

For an odd moment, Kaidan thought the holo's blank face was addressing _him_, but then the man on the floor spoke up, his voice quavering. "O- Operative Lin is dead, Broker."

The camera shifted further. "Explain yourself."

"We were awaiting payment, like you ordered. But Lin had us shadowing the Spectre. He... he ordered us to move in and retrieve payment."

"Then your operatives are a pack of fools!" Krannas snapped. "They intruded where they were not wanted, disrupting my operation! I honor my agreements, but I will not tolerate your interference in my work!"

The holo seemed to scan the room. The pregnant pauses between replies spoke to the distance this signal must be travelling. "I gave no such order," the modulated voice said.

"Lin said there had been a communication problem-" the operative said.

"So you took matters into your own hands," Krannas growled. "Stupid and arrogant."

The holo vanished. Krannas hissed in irritation and started forward, but it popped back to life a moment later.

"Looks like they don't have all the bugs out yet," Wickham murmured behind Kaidan.

"Spectre Krannas. In light of the actions of my operatives, your debt is hereby cleared. Our business is concluded. This location will be liquidated. Shadow Broker out."

"Broker-" the man on the floor said, reaching out. The holo snapped off.

Krannas turned and glared down at him. "You live," she pronounced. "Be grateful."

Tarlo said something to her in an urgent tone. She turned on her heel and moved toward the door, just as the sound of booted feet resounded from down the hallway. Kaidan grittedd his teeth. The repeated shocks of adrenaline he'd been running on were thinning into weariness.

"Oh, what _now_," Odell grated, echoing the sentiment. "More of them?"

"Devkan security!" came an amplified shout bouncing off the walls. "Drop your weapons!"

Krannas planted herself in front of the doorway. "Iridan Krannas, Citadel Special Tactics and Reconnaissance!" she boomed. "Hold your fire!"

Kaidan could hear the soldiers' advance falter and splutter to a stop as they emerged from the open doorway. The one in the lead, a man in heavy dark green Armax armor, edged forward, scanning the room.

"Devkan security, responding to a disturbance-"

"I am conducting an operation," Krannas said, holstering her pistol. She opened her omni-tool display and tapped in a few commands.

In response, the officer's own tool beeped. He stared at the ident info filling up the small holo, consternation curdling his expression. With some hesitation, he signaled his squad to lower their weapons.

"Are they authorized to be here?" Kaidan heard one of them say.

"Spectre, man," came the reply. There was a splutter of muttering among the security team, with no small amount of swearing and sizing up of the opposition. This group was used to having its way wherever they went.

"Uh, well then Spectre, is your operation complete, or...?"

"I am finished here."

"We'll round up this lot then, if you don't mind." The officer waved his rifle at Kaidan's marines.

The commander froze as the other guards started forward. Getting held up by a private security force on a planet with no real centralized law enforcement would be nothing but endless trouble. Even if Kaidan hadn't been under orders to keep this off-record, they were unlikely to consider Alliance credentials very impressive.

The pause stretched a second too long. "They are with me," Krannas stated loudly, bringing the security detail up short. "The rest I leave to whatever justice you see fit. Let us leave, Commander." She threw a curt wave in Kaidan's direction.

Wickham edged closer to Kaidan. "Uh-"

"Move it, marines," he murmured into their private comm channel. The security team was looking from him to their own commander, waiting for an order to move in. Given too long to think about it, someone might realize the immunity Spectres enjoyed arguably only applied to them.

They made their way past the inquiring stares of the security team, Odell and Wickham herding the wounded corporal along. Kaidan signaled Amari to watch their backs. He scanned the hallways they passed, but his eyes strayed back to the two turians walking ahead of him. He quickened his pace just enough to fall into step beside the Spectre.

He dropped his voice. "You were going to sell Kasumi's data to the Shadow Broker."

"You had a secondary mission. As did I," Krannas replied evenly. "Repayment of a debt."

"How exactly were you planning on getting it from us?"

She gave an small shrug. "I had not yet gotten to that part."

The blunt admission made Kaidan blink in surprise. The smell of carbon was still strong in the air. Somewhere, a broken light fixture sputtered, throwing slashing shadows along the corridor. They rounded a corner.

"And who wanted me dead?" he said, as conversational as he could manage.

Her voice came as if from far away, low and quiet. "_I_ did."

Stunned, he groped for a reply, the right question. When he turned back, Tarlo's bulk was between them, his broad collar and helmet blocking Kaidan's view of the Spectre. The turian's dark reflective visor turned a fraction in his direction. The blank face regarded Kaidan until he let himself drop back to his squad.

"The hell is going on, sir?" Odell muttered beside him.

"We're getting out of here, that's what."

"I'm not going anywhere with that turian."

"Neither am I. Stay sharp, we'll get our own ride to the safehouse."

More members of the security team were clustered around the outer door. Krannas didn't slow her pace, staring them down as she marched out the door. They parted and let the group pass. Out in the street, security vehicles were lined up, fending off a growing group of gawkers. They were able to slip into a sidestreet that was, for the moment, undiscovered by the curious. Those that saw them, Kaidan thought, must have assumed they were part of the security detail.

At an intersection, Krannas abruptly stopped.

"Here we part company, Commander Alenko," she inclined her head. "My third reports a clean confirm on Hock. The arms ring will fragment. And meanwhile, his leftover stock will lead the appropriate authorities to his buyers. Avey." With that, she turned to leave.

"Spectre," Kaidan said.

Krannas stopped and looked back. He pointed to her left hand hanging by her side, where the greybox's I/O jack poked out between her fingers. She raised her arm and scrutinized the device in her palm, plated face unreadable.

"Commander," Odell murmured. His rifle was edging upward.

Kaidan's mind raced. "Steady," he murmured. He couldn't possibly imagine what killing a Spectre would mean. Beside her, Tarlo was also tense, his weapon a mere few degrees off ready. A shootout with these two would cost him marines, he was sure, especially without his biotics to combat hers. If they could win at all.

_A mission objective, but for what cost-_

"It's of no use to you, Spectre-san," Kasumi said in an offhand tone, "just a bunch of old memories."

After everything they'd been through, the easy lie was almost funny. Krannas' head came up, and she regarded the assemblage of humans facing her. She bounced the greybox up and down in her hand as if to feel the weight. Then she turned away.

Odell's rifle came up. Kaidan's hand shot out and clapped down on the weapon's casing. Across the street, the spectre's green eyes locked onto his from over her shoulder. He sucked in a breath, heart pounding in his ears. There was a flash on the last rays of the dying sun. Out of reflex, Kaidan dodged forward and reached out just in time to catch the object flipping toward him. It was lighter than it looked when it thwacked into his palm.

He knew what it was before turning it over- the graybox.

* * *

><p>If there were any eternal truths to be had, one of them was surely that the way into a marine squad's heart was through their stomachs. Kaidan took a moment to soak in the satisfaction when the circle of faces arrayed around him showed the mixture of surprise and instant pleasure at the stack of pizza boxes he deposited on the table.<p>

They were all still armored, crammed haphazardly into the small room with their equipment. But with the appearance of food and evac to an Alliance vessel imminent, no one seemed ready to lodge a complaint against the accommodations. Despite his own growling stomach, Kaidan left his marines to their best impression of a pack of sharks and opened the door to the adjoining room.

It was small, occupied only by a small bed, chair and table. The shutters were closed. Kasumi sat cross-legged on the bed, hands folded in her lap. Under her hood, Kaidan could see a holographic visor across her eyes. Chief Wickham was sitting in front of the holodisplay emitted by a portable terminal on the table. The greybox jutted from the center, an unimpressive rectangle of grey plastic dotted with what once had been a neurointerface. Tiny, illegal, and worth thousands of credits. Why did so much trouble always come from such small things?

"Commander." Wickham flashed him a smile. "You should see this. The encryption threading, it's a thing of beauty! Keiji was a master. Look." She pointed to the display, where cascades of code and numbers wove their way across the screen. "It's Kasumi's memories. They fit the threading, a key in a lock."

"Her own memories."

"Cunning, isn't it? There's no way you could crack this key, you'd have to brute force it. Years of work."

"If you're willing to risk permanent brain damage to get the greybox in the first place."

The chief shrugged. "Well, yeah." She seemed unconvinced, peering up at him. "Hey, you okay sir?"

"Neuroshock charges disagree with me."

"Well, that is sort of the point."

He jerked his thumb at the door. "Shoo. Go eat."

"Aye sir. Thought I smelled something good." She snapped a jaunty salute and sauntered out into the living room.

The door slid shut, leaving the room lit by the holodisplay. He waited, looking away from the amber glow, letting the dim light soothe the thick feeling in his skull. No auras intruded into his vision. Maybe he'd be lucky this time. Or maybe the migraine was just biding its time, collecting its strength. His amp, at least, had mostly survived- only the connector cable needed replacement. For several minutes, he enjoyed the welcome quiet, broken only by the soft whine of the access drive.

Kasumi moved. Kaidan looked at her. The visor display had vanished.

"Well?" he asked.

"Everything's here," she said, her voice subdued.

Kaidan lowered himself into the chair, the bulk of his armor making it creak. "Look, I've had a really, really long week. When we're done here, I'd be obliged if you didn't give me a reason to chase after you."

She raised an eyebrow with a slight smile. "Because that would be terrible."

"Ah, yes, well-"

"Then I should give you this back." She held out her hand.

His heart jumped into his throat. Between her fingers was the battered rectangle of Shepard's lost datapad. He jumped forward and snatched it back with a curse.

"I was curious." Kasumi cocked her head, unperturbed by his accusing glare. "That old thing didn't seem to fit."

"Fit..."

"The jarhead biotic techno-geek aesthetic. Don't you break out in hives if you touch technology more than five years old?"

There was a joke somewhere in there, about the myth of the military always having the most advanced gear, about his own creeping obsolescence, but it didn't manage to dock at the station.

"There's nothing..." he managed. "It's broken. It has no value."

She smiled softly, unbelieving but strangely understanding. "Did she die?" she asked. "The person who owned that?"

Kaidan opened his mouth then snapped it shut, his throat constricting further. Kasumi couldn't possibly know. She was guessing, she had to be. But his reaction was no doubt more than enough to give it away. She was looking at him with the same expression of frank satisfaction his parents' cat had worn after yet again wheedling a bite of real fish from his mother.

She glanced at the greybox display. "I don't know how any of you do it. Soldiers, I mean."

"I might point out you didn't choose the safest job in the world."

"If someone is shooting at me, then something went seriously wrong." She tucked her feet up in front of her and wrapped her arms around her knees. "You go out looking for it."

"That's not entirely true."

"But it ends up happening, doesn't it? And at some point, one of you doesn't come back."

All Kaidan could do was shrug, not trusting himself to speak. He was tempted to say it out loud, just to hear the bald absurdity of it all. _Except... when they do_.A thought tickled at the back of his mind, taunting him. This woman, more than anyone else he'd met in two years, would probably believe him. The whole ridiculous tale- from Eden Prime, to Ilos, to Alchera, to Horizon, a broken geth in someone else's armor, replaying the last sounds of a dying-

As always when he dared brush up against that memory, his thoughts froze up, wrenched backward, refused utterly to re-process that remembered voice. He found the seat again and sank into it. His armor felt leaden, the collar rubbing at the cut in his neck.

"You want it destroyed, don't you?" she said.

He nodded. "I was hoping you'd be able to just delete the sensitive section."

"I can't."

"The encryption threading."

"Keiji was always too smart for his own good. He spent hours on that setup. He was so proud of it."

"You had to know, didn't you, that the Alliance wouldn't be okay with just letting this go? And yet you still came to us for help."

"I knew." She quirked a half smile at him. "But I was out of options. Hock had the greybox, and you were going after Hock. I couldn't do it alone, and I knew the data would motivate you to help me. All I had to do was get in."

"Then make your escape."

"Yes."

"What did Keiji want?"

The briefest grimace pursed her mouth. He'd hit a nerve.

"He wants... he didn't want me to be a target."

"Look, I know it's hypocrisy. But this," Shepard's datapad flipped around in his fingers, "is just music, some pictures, random things." He frowned. "Putting it back together is just for the sake of... well, a kind of penance, maybe, for mistakes made. But it can't really hurt anyone, regardless of what happens to it. Keiji's graybox will. And not just you."

She hugged her knees tighter, her hood hiding her face. "I can go completely off the grid. Disappear."

"Probably."

"But you have orders."

"This is just my gut feeling, but I have no reason to think you'd ever knowingly put people in danger, or sell the data for your own gain. So..." He sighed and wet his lips, not quite believing what he was about to say. "I'm not in the mood to browbeat you over this, and I'm no good at coercion. The decision... and the consequences of it, is up to you."

"Jerk," Kasumi murmured.

"Pardon?"

"You were right, you know." She shot him a narrow-eyed glare, and yet her round face held no real malice. "I was going to take the greybox and disappear. Easy. Then you have to go and bring good sense into it."

Kaidan could see the conflict in her eyes. Her usual levity, perhaps an easy means of escape, fighting against hurt. He elected to stay quiet and let her work her way through it.

At length, she spoke again. "Everything you said is right. I just..." Her voice dropped, catching an edge. "It just feels like I'm losing him all over again."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"At least, of all people, you aren't bullshitting when you say you know what it's like."

That stung for some reason, but it was shared rather than adversarial. "Would it be easier if I did it?"

"Do it. Before I change my mind."

He got up and went over to the display. Frozen there was a fuzzy image of an Asian man, looking out from the holo with an expression of kind sadness. For a moment, Kaidan wondered what Keiji was like. A brilliant programmer who could have had any job he wanted, but who elected to become a career thief at his lover's side. A wasted life... or was it? He stole a glance at Kasumi. Her back was resolutely turned. He entered the command string that would delete the entire drive and executed it. Then he entered another command set, and returned to his seat. As the progress bar ran across the display, one of the many knots in his back seemed to ease.

A minute passed, and the console beeped. She looked at the display. "Is it done?"

"Yeah."

"Then what's it doing..."

"Huh? Oh, I set up a low-level randomized re-write. Three passes should make any attempt at a deep forensic scan come up empty."

"Thorough indeed." Kasumi climbed to her feet and bowed. "Arigatou gozaimasu, Alenko-san."

"Getting to Hock would have been a lot harder without you. And thank you for doing the right thing. I know it was harder than any of us appreciate."

She went toward the door. "I'll say my goodbyes and get out of your hair. Time to lay low for a while, I think. But..." she paused at the doorway, "if we meet again, I want to hear that story. The one from that datapad."

"It's, uh, a long one. And weird."

Her grin reappeared, tentative but sincere. "The weird stories are the _best _stories."

"All right." The words left his mouth before his better judgement had time to intervene.

"Good, now I have an excuse. Sayonara, Alenko-san."


	10. Dirty Secrets

**Dirty Secrets**

First one panel illuminated, and then another, until the wall was a babble of confused voices all demanding attention.

"I know you're monitoring this location!" thundered a voice from the console, cutting across the others. "Show yourself!"

Liara glanced behind her, still trembling from the exertion of the fight against the monstrous yahg. Across the room, Shepard was busy picking Garrus up off the floor, and Operative Taylor was collecting himself, surveying what was left of the Shadow Broker now that he'd been subjected to a cascade overload of his own shielding system.

None of them paid the Broker's console any heed. All those voices must be his operative network. If the situation wasn't controlled quickly, they might be lost. A few touches to the controls brought up a vocal input. She took a deep breath and spoke, enunciating carefully. "This is the Shadow Broker. Situation under control. We experienced a power fluctuation while upgrading hardware. It disrupted communications momentarily. However, we are now back online. Resume standard procedures. I want a status report on all operations within the next solar day. Shadow Broker out."

She leaned back, chewing her lip. One by one, acknowledgement codes flashed across the displays, until all but one remained active. She peered at it in consternation.

The voice beyond was not to be placated. "Shadow Broker! I know you can hear me!"

_Goddess._ Liara scanned the controls before her. A command prioritized the comm signal and centered the display. There was an small eye-shaped icon on the bottom. But was it safe? It had to be. The Broker wouldn't use a two-way visual. Her nerves thrilling, she touched the icon. Uplink symbols flashed on the display, and an image appeared. An armored turian stood right in front of the camera, her mandibles wide in anger, so close it made Liara start.

_Who is this?_ There was something that looked like text lining the side of the display, but it was a syllabary she'd never seen in her life.

"What... what language is that?" she murmured out loud.

"Ya'tal, Shadow Broker."

Liara nearly jumped out of her skin. A holographic drone made up of orbiting light layers around a tiny emitter core skimmed over the console and stopped in front of her.

"Ya... tal?" she asked.

"Yes, Shadow Broker."

_Is that a yahg dialect? _"Translate it to... Esshil," she ventured.

"Processing," the drone said. It sounded almost cheerful. "Task complete, Shadow Broker."

She could hardly believe it was so simple, but she didn't spare the time to question her good fortune. Instead she quickly scanned the text. It seemed to detail mission parameters. There, in the first few lines, was the turian's name.

"Spectre... Krannas," she said, pushing the voice-out icon. _A Spectre?_

The turian in the image whirled, planted her hands on her hips and glared into the camera, her hawkish face made huge and predatory by the wide-angle lens. "Broker. We had an agreement. I demand an explanation for the actions of your operatives."

Operatives. Where was the cell's head operative? Using the console, Liara panned the camera across the room, refocusing it. There was an armored group standing behind Krannas. They looked human, but their faces were obscured by their helmets. Bekenstein was a human world, but their armor bore no obvious insignias. She looked back at the mission readout. _There._

"Operative Lin," she said.

The group of humans didn't react.

"O- Operative Lin is dead, Broker," said a voice.

Liara slewed the camera further to the side. On the floor was an armored man, his face drawn with pain. He was clutching his knee. Behind him, several plainclothed people knelt with their hands behind their heads. _Did the Spectre attack the cell? _"Explain yourself," Liara said.

"We were awaiting payment, like you ordered," the wounded man said. "But Lin had us shadowing the Spectre. He... he ordered us to move in and retrieve payment."

"Then your operatives are a pack of fools!" The turian's voice cut harshly across the channel. "They intruded where they were not wanted, disrupting my operation! I honor my agreements, but I will not tolerate your interference in my work!"

The man babbled something about signal problems as Liara hurriedly scanned the mission readout and found an entry about payment. The Spectre had bought information, in return for information. Something called... 'Anudir'.

"I gave no such order," she said, hoping that was correct.

Among the block of text, a name suddenly struck her. It had been distorted by repeat translation, but she could swear it said 'Kaidan Alenko'.

_No. I'm imagining things._ She peered at the screen. Waves of interference kept skewing the image. One of the armored group looked wounded- they must have been the attackers. She rubbed her temple. How would the Shadow Broker handle this? He would be ruthless, cut his losses. The leader of the cell had made a critical error in judgement and endangered the Shadow Broker's reputation. Of all the people in the galaxy, a Citadel Spectre had the potential to be one of the most serious threats to a broker's, any broker's, position. Ample proof of that was the corpse cooling on the deck plating behind her.

_I must be ruthless, too. Give myself time to figure everything out. _She thumbed the mute. "VI," she addressed the drone, "does this cell have a... liquidation protocol in place?"

"Affirmative, Shadow Broker," the drone chirped. "All operating cells have five contingency protocols as you designated. Level four protocol is complete liquidation of hardware and memory assets."

"And level five?"

"Complete liquidation of hardware, memory and personnel assets."

Liara swallowed hard. _I must disengage the Spectre. Give her no reason to pursue this._ "Spectre Krannas," she said into the mic, "in light of the actions of my operatives, your debt is hereby cleared. Our business is concluded. This location will be liquidated. Shadow Broker out."

She turned to the drone, shutting off the pickup. "Institute a level four purge of the Bekenstein cell. Liquidate hardware and memory assets."

The drone's lit shell spun. "Bekenstein level four purge acknowledged. Sending codes."

A chill swept through her. Perhaps it was a blessing that she had no real idea of the value of the material she'd just destroyed. But at least it wasn't more lives. It was a risk she would have to take.

In the holodisplay, the leader of the group of humans moved, and a wave of familiarity jolted through Liara. Just the way he set his shoulders and shifted his weight brought the memories of all those missions on the _Normandy_ flooding back to mind. She switched off the display and peered at the mission notes again. The text was rife with jarring translation errors, but it seemed the Spectre had bought information on a Kaidan Alenko. Could it really be him? There were billions of humans, perhaps the name was a common one. Why would a Spectre be interested in the man she'd known on the _Normandy_? He was an Alliance soldier, not some criminal threatening the Citadel.

She touched the text link, driven by curiosity. Another block of text appeared in a new pane. She skimmed it, picking out his name again in what appeared to be a kind of medical report under the name 'Conatix'. A lot of the information seemed dry, reports and statistics. A prickly feeling crawled along her scalp as she realized it was some kind of testing log. She chided herself. _But of course. _Being on Illium, among so many asari, it was easy to take for granted how very _new_ biotics were to humans. Not even a generation of their short lives had passed. And Kaidan, as she recalled, had been one of the first. The reports took on a more strident tone. Another name kept cropping up, a turian, and then-

_Goddess._

"Goddess of Oceans!"

For the second time, Liara jumped. She whirled around to face the muzzle of a snub-nosed pistol. On the other end was Feron's multicolored face, his eyes wide.

"It's you!" he stammered. "How?"

"It's all right, Feron," Liara said. She pointed to the corpse. "There's your monster."

The drell's gaze followed her outstretched finger and stared hard at the yahg's body. He lowered his weapon and exhaled, a groan escaping his lips when he straightened. An array of pinprick burns went up the back of his neck, and the ends of his fringe had lost some of their color. And yet he was alive, something that had seemed only slightly more likely than ever seeing Shepard again.

"Are you all right?" Liara asked.

"Never better," he quipped. "Not for the last long while, anyway." His eyes drifted back to the console array, then to her.

"I was just... looking," she explained. "And, well, everyone who's ever seen him in person is dead, so..."

"So you're the new Shadow Broker."

Her mouth opened to retort but nothing came out. His statement wasn't as accusation so much as a dry observation, and she found she couldn't refute it.

"There a problem?"

Liara glanced around to see Shepard striding toward them, skirting the Broker's smoking remains. Behind her, Garrus and Operative Taylor seemed to be arguing over what to do about the room's weighty former occupant.

Feron made something of a half bow to the commander, holding the pistol judiciously behind him. "No, Commander Shepard. In fact I rather think you've done a spectacular job of eliminating my largest and most pointed problem. I think... I'll go sit down for a while and enjoy the lack of electrodes attached to my most grateful self. Check the power systems, perhaps."

He limped away, keeping a grip on his weapon.

"Is he going to be all right?" Shepard said softly.

"He's been a prisoner for far too long. I..." Liara trailed off, her throat tightening. "It's finally over... Two years."

She wrapped her arms around herself, letting the wave of relief and emotion flow through her with a shudder. Shepard laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I spent two years mourning you and Feron, now I have you both back." The realization was a little giddy. Liara forced a smile over the tangle of feelings. "Let's see what we've got."

She turned back to the console, presided over by the little VI, who seemed utterly unperturbed by the violent change in management. It flittered out of her way, stopping in front of Shepard. "May I help you, Shadow Broker?" it said.

The commander regarded it with confusion.

"There don't seem to be any safeguards or user restrictions whatsoever," Liara explained. "It's like the yahg never expected anyone to get this far." She opened a pane and called up a system database map. The hierarchy seemed small at first, but Liara quickly realized it branched off into countless sub-hierarchies. The yahg, for all his brutish appearance, was organized. The undiscovered depths lurking beneath the simple display made her fingertips prickle with excitement. "I came here to rescue Feron. But is it wrong that part of me wants this?"

Shepard's gaze lingered on the bank of holodisplays. "You're sure about this, Liara?"

"I can use it. Turn it into something good."

"You'll have to make choices."

The easy 'I know' died on Liara's lips, pinned by Shepard's frank stare. The orange display glinted in her reflective retinas.

"You'll have the best intentions, but there will be times you'll have nothing but evil in each hand," the commander said. Her voice was chilling, quiet.

"If we are to survive what is coming, then all of us must be ready to make such decisions."

"_You_ have to survive the decisions first."

Another glib answer died in Liara's throat. She vividly recalled the haunted look on Shepard's face when they'd returned from the mission on Virmire.

The asari drew herself up, resolved. "I have two things the yahg didn't have. First, I have a goal; stopping the Reapers. That will keep me focused. And... I have you to be my anchor, Shepard. I swear you will always know where to find me, and I will always listen to you. Should I ever overstep myself, I know you'll take me to task."

"I think you made this choice before we even got here. So long as you're prepared for what it means..."

"It's not right that we heap so much expectation on your shoulders alone, Shepard. The past two years have taught me just how much power there is in information," Liara stole a glance at the bank of displays, "and now I find myself sitting on an unprecedented stockpile. Let me fight this part of the war for you. I can be your eyes and ears, and your weapon when you need it."

"I'll need every ally I can get."

"And now I can be so much more than a simple archaeologist."

"I don't wish this responsibility on you, Liara. But I can hardly refuse this help, especially now."

"This war has changed all of us, there's no going back." She chewed her lip. "Garrus... told me what happened. On the Collector base."

Shepard eye's hardened into agates. "Did he."

"Please, do not blame him." Liara stepped forward. "I pressed him for the truth."

The commander said nothing. She stared at the bank of monitors, expressionless. Behind her, Operative Taylor was using his biotics to lift the yahg's body, and Garrus was trying to push it out the door without getting tangled up in the dark energy field. There seemed to be a great deal of swearing going on.

"I knew it would be difficult," Liara rushed on into the gathering silence, keeping her voice low, "I had no reason to trust Cerberus. I didn't even think their Lazarus project would succeed. But I did not realize what they would force you to do."

"I could have walked away," Shepard muttered.

Liara shook her head. "You would not walk away from those innocent lives. They knew that, and they used it. I did not know to what depth this would weigh on your soul, Shepard. Never did I wish for it to be so. I understand your anger with me now."

Shepard glanced back at her. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "Anger is all I've had to go on for a long time now. It's seeped into everything, and it gets away from me. I've tried..." She scrubbed at her face under the visor of her helmet, and fell silent again, shoulders slumped.

"You're free of Cerberus."

"Not really. They're under my skin." She splayed her hand in front of her. "Every time I look in the mirror, Cerberus is looking back at me. Cerberus is all anyone sees in me now."

"Cybernetic implants do not make you who you are," Liara insisted, trying to conceal the heartsick feeling crawling in her gut. Staying current on Shepard's movements meant wading into the opinion war that raged every day on the extranet. And while she had many supporters, plenty more saw her as a traitor and worse. Liara did not think she could ever forgive the Citadel Council for carefully slipping the whisper of madness into the discourse. Once sown, the tiny seed blossomed, a weed that would not be eradicated. How much had Shepard herself bought into their lie?

"Doesn't matter. Even..." A grimace crossed Sheard's features. "Even Kaidan. It's all he saw."

_The poison runs deep. _"Surely he will listen to the truth now. Find him and-"

"No!" Shepard snapped, showing her teeth. "He's done with me. He made that amply clear on Horizon."

So it was true, he'd been there during the Collector attack on the human colony. It had been difficult to make sense of the conflicting reports that had filtered out. Terrified minds were prone to exaggeration, to blame. Numbers and names flew freely, and many laid the losses at the feet of the Alliance 'meddlers'... and still more blamed Shepard herself. More fuel for the raging war of opinion.

"But-"

"Liara, he's moved on. And it's a good thing. The further he is from me the better."

"How can you believe such a thing?"

"It's just the truth," Shepard said bitterly. "Two, three years... it's a long time for us. He's got his own life to live, and I have no right to impose myself on it."

Liara wanted to argue further, but Shepard was coiled, ready to lash out again if pushed. The scars that adorned the side of the commander's dark face were much diminished since their first meeting on Illium, but the circles under her eyes were still deep. Curiosity prickled again, leading Liara's thoughts back to what she'd seen on the monitors. There was more to this story. If Shepard didn't want to talk, she could find out for herself.

"Have the dreams returned?" Liara said instead. "The Protheans?"

Shepard sighed. "I found another beacon. I had to activate it in case there might have been more information stored in it. But of course it brought everything back to the surface."

"Perhaps I could help you-

"No!" Shepard's eyes snapped wide, and she backed up a step so abruptly her shoulder smacked into one of the shattered uprights. Her hand went behind to the grip of her weapon. "Stay out of my head! The second I see black eyes on anyone, I'm going for my gun. No more. Ever. Ever!"

Stunned by the sudden threat of violence, Liara gaped at her. "Shepard! Never would I force such a thing where it wasn't wanted. It breaks our most sacred laws!"

"Not everyone gives a shit about those laws," Shepard snarled.

"Who..." Liara started, then a flash of memory struck her, scattered pieces of information fitting together. "The ardat-yakshi."

"Her, the AI, more Protheans. You name it."

The asari winced. _I didn't want to be right._ "You helped the justicar with her hunt."

"Bait."

A chilling thought. "How could she ask such a thing of you?"

Shepard smiled a humorless smirk. "I'm the invincible Commander Shepard. I can deal with anything."

There, leaning against the smoking upright, was all of Garrus' fears plainly illustrated. The despair still dogging Shepard's heels. The impulse was to curse Cerberus, and yet that was too simple an answer. It was not entirely them, nor the Collectors, or any of the other litany of villains they'd faced. It was, in truth, a twisted snarl of good intentions and true evils, all mixed up to the point that there was no longer a beginning nor an end to any of it. The lines between guilt and innocence had been all but washed away. _Garrus was right when he said she's only some of the way back._

Liara approached and gently took Shepard's arm, easing it away from her shotgun. "I am not Justicar Samara, nor her prey. You know me better than that, Shepard."

The glimmering hostility wilted, and the commander looked stricken. "I know, I do, I just..."

It seemed a lifetime ago, on the Citadel, when Liara had watched this human comfort a terrified escaped slave. Hoping the gesture was as unambiguous as it seemed, Liara carefully slipped her arms around Shepard. "It was all too much, wasn't it?" she murmured.

The commander sagged against her. Shepard's thick armor was more than merely physical, Liara sensed, and yet there was a tentative undercurrent of relief when Shepard returned the embrace and held it.

After a moment, Liara withdrew a little and cupped her hands around the guard of the commander's helmet. "You are not Cerberus, Shepard. Think about it. They trained you, brought you back from death, lavished you with money, equipment, familiar faces and a ship to best your old one. They coerced you with human lives, threatened you with the lives of your friends. Surrounded you with watchers and controllers. The Illusive Man tried _everything_ in his considerable power to make you his creature_. _And yet, when they pushed you to the limit, you chose death instead of surrender."

Shepard pulled back a step. "That's not... Don't make it sound noble, Liara, I gave up."

"It must feel that way, but I don't think you did."

The commander looked unconvinced, distractedly running her thumb along a gouge in her vambrace.

"Stay a while, Shepard," Liara suggested. "With your enforcement of radio-silence, we are safe here. After all, the Broker must have fed his mercenaries and fueled their ships, so he must be well-supplied."

"Maybe I can take some time to just... breathe."

_And time for friends to coax you a little further out of your fortress. _"Yes," Liara said encouragingly. "Take the time you need. And-" A thought struck her. _Of course, what a fool I am!_ "You are lacking for credits now that you cut your ties to Cerberus. Well surely the Shadow Broker had considerable reserves of his own money. Perhaps even enough to rival the Illusive Man! And now they're mine. Give me some time, and I can find you the funds you need to pay your crew and repair the _Normandy_. That would help, would it not?"

Liara could see Shepard thinking it over, calculating. Some of the merciless weariness receded as she shifted her weight and stood a little straighter.

"Yes," she said finally, "it would. It would help a lot. I- We can stop just trying to tread water, and one less sacrifice to ask of the crew I have left."

"Good! Stay, then. Just for a little while. We have so much to explore!"

"It can't be too long, though." Shepard's expression grew dour again. "I have to go back to the Citadel and explain to a son why his father isn't coming back."

"Kolyat Krios," Liara guessed.

Shepard's eyebrows went up.

The asari smoothed her armored jacket. "I am good at my job, Shepard. And Cerberus wasn't the only one keeping an eye on you."

"I'm quite the pain in the ass, aren't I?"

Liara didn't quite grasp the odd idiom, but Shepard's tone suggested a certain dry self-deprecation rather than real disgust. The asari chuckled. "You are worth whatever trouble."

"Liara."

"Yes?"

"One of these days - soon, I hope - I'll be able to thank you properly, _sincerely_, for what you've done for me. Everything you've gone through at my expense. I'm not there yet, but... Can you be patient with me?"

"I can." Liara smiled. "You are above all my friend, Shepard."

"I'm not sure I deserve it, but I am grateful. And..." Shepard nudged the fragments of twisted metal on the ground with her boot.

"What is it?"

She pointed to the holodisplay. "Could you use all this to keep an eye on Kaidan? The Illusive Man tried to use him to get to me, I'm worried he might try again. Him, or his family. They live on Earth, I think."

"Of course, I'll do whatever I can."

"Thanks. You know you'll probably have to move this operation after I leave. I can't say with certainty that the position won't get leaked."

"I know. And I have no doubt the yahg had contingency plans set up. What else is there to do here but plan? One cannot go outside to enjoy the weather! But not yet."

Shepard thumbed the side of her helmet, unlatched it and pulled it off. Stray strands of hair stood at odd angles until she smoothed them back. Obviously a habit borne of experience. Not for the first time, the fleeting thought of just how much maintenance those manes required went through the asari's head.

"Where do we start?" she asked.

"Well, we're sitting in one of the most comprehensive libraries of dirty secrets in the entire galaxy. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

A sly smile crept across Shepard's face. "Maybe a little."


	11. Uncommon Weights

**Uncommon Weights**

Jacob watched as Shepard paced, her face set with the kind of concentrated focus that preceded a mission. She swung her shoulders, settling her armor in place as she thumped back and forth across the floor of the armory. In front of him, a display showed an array of settings and readouts from her armor. On the other side of the worktable, the geth adjusted something on Shepard's shotgun. Jacob found himself imagining the whir of machinery was its way of humming to itself.

"How's that?" Jacob asked.

Shepard stretched her arms up and rolled them back, pushing the armor's flexibility to the maximum. She threw a punch into the air, then stepped back. "I don't know, it still feels tight."

"I'll open it up another notch, but you're going to loose support if we go too much further."

"Shepard-Commander," Legion said, "requested modifications are complete." It held the strange geth shotgun out to her. A square box containing a small mass effect generator was clamped along the bottom- a tuner programmed to simulate weapon recoil without having to fire a live round.

"Thanks, Legion." She took the weapon and raised it to her shoulder. "Plugged in?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Jacob said.

Shepard pulled the trigger, causing the gun to jolt back in imitation of the real recoil. She tried it a few more times, miming aiming the weapon at phantom enemies while the geth watched. "Yeah, now it's a little soft," she declared. "Can you tighten it some more up across the front instead of the shoulder?"

"Can do," Jacob said. He keyed a few commands into the interface which set her armor's power assist system. The bulky armature was one of the major reasons Jacob no longer felt at ease in heavy armor. Even with a lot of tinkering, it was never quite the second skin of impact gel.

"Shepard-Commander, deployment to Bahak is imminent," Legion said. "You have not chosen a team."

"I know, I was ordered not to take any of the crew with me on this mission. I'm doing this on my own."

Jacob raised an eyebrow at the word 'order'. Why she had accepted a mission from Admiral Hackett, of all people, was beyond him. Legion was silent for a moment, its head plates shifting slightly. He'd never before seen such appendages on other geth. They looked like the kind of dubiously useful aftermarket appendages some people felt the need to add to their gravcar.

"This platform could accompany Shepard-Commander," the construct said. "By current organic standards, we are classified as equipment. Therefore, it would not contravene mission parameters."

Shepard stared hard at the construct, then burst into a laugh. It startled him, all the more because Jacob realized he'd never heard Shepard just laugh like that. A free and easy sound, short though it was.

"You know," she said, "it's almost tempting."

Legion's vanes flicked upward.

"But I can't," Shepard said. "You're not equipment, Legion, you're part of my crew. And besides, I made a commitment, and I have to stick to it. I appreciate the offer, though."

If it was capable of feeling disappointment, the construct showed nothing of it. Instead it turned and walked out the door. Jacob wondered if they shouldn't teach it to salute, just so it had some way of concluding a conversation with anything other than jarring abruptness. Lingering for social niceties didn't seem to be in its repertoire.

"Creative interpretation of rules," Shepard murmured. "Now that's interesting."

"How do you trust that- them, Commander?" Jacob asked.

"Good question. Maybe I shouldn't, but I never sensed any kind of ulterior motive from them."

"Even though it's wearing a piece of your old armor?"

Shepard shrugged. "Yeah... I know. I can't even get a straight answer out of them about why. But you know what? I don't think they _know_ why. Because if they did, I think they'd tell me."

"That makes no sense."

"Come on. Can we really claim we always know why we do what we do?"

"All right, guess I have to grant you that one. But still, I just don't know, Commander."

"Neither do I, not really. But we can't afford another war, so I have to give them the benefit of the doubt. I was able to do that for the rachni, I should extend the same to the geth. There's one thing I'm pretty sure of, though. They may have come by it in a different way, and they may be brand new to it, but they _are_ sentient. And that puts us on the same side when the Reapers roll in."

_When_. Not a nice thought. For a while, it had been something of a comfort to imagine it was possible the invasion might come long after his own lifetime. Now that seemed not only unlikely, but a wild overestimate. Jacob adjusted the armature's recoil compensation and indicated for Shepard to try again. She mock-fired the gun a few more times.

"Better," she said, rolling her shoulders.

"Shepard," Jacob said, "you sure this isn't..."

"A trap?"

"Or a way to get rid of you."

"I don't think that's Hackett's agenda."

"You sure?"

"I am now. Liara was digging through the Shadow Broker's files. She showed me some very interesting things. Would you believe the old bastard's been keeping the Alliance off our backs this whole time?"

The surprise must have been written plainly on his face, because she chuckled.

"That Alliance catch and interrogate order?" Shepard went on. "It's on the books, but no one was assigned to actually carry it out. In fact, Hackett's been stonewalling any attempt to dedicate resources to it." She shook her head as if she couldn't quite believe it either. "It's all politics."

"Nothing ever changes."

"Maybe not, but the least I can do is try to find his friend for him. And on top of that, this person might have discovered evidence on the Reaper invasion."

More evidence to fall into oblivion. "That really going to help?"

"The admiral of Fifth Fleet is asking me to do this, not some fringe conspiracy loon. Yes, I'd like the Council to get their heads out of their asses too, but at least_ someone_ in high command is taking it seriously."

She unclipped the recoil tuner from the shotgun and handed it back to him, then began feeding cold sinks into her belt.

"Sounds like you'd go back to the Alliance," Jacob commented, stowing the tuner.

To his mild surprise, she had to stop what she was doing and consider it for several seconds. "I'm not sure, but I probably would. If I belong anywhere, I think it was there."

"Even after the way they treated you while you were- after Alchera?"

"I don't think we can confuse the PR division with what the Alliance is really about. PR are a bunch of marketing goons. Sometimes I have to remind myself of it too, because none of the actual marines I've worked with are like that." She pointed at him. "Case in point."

"It's all going to be the same song and dance, though."

"They try, Taylor. The Alliance has a lot of problems. A _lot_ of problems. But there, I know the rules, and I respect them. And I'd take their problems over Cerberus' 'rules' any day of the week."

He shifted his weight. It was difficult to meet her gaze. "At least the Collectors are dead."

"Three cheers. We only had to sell our souls for it." The bitter edge was back, all the more noticeable now that it had been absent.

"Shepard, we didn't pull any of the crap we saw on Pragia or Aite."

"No, but we still rode on it. It's in this ship and our weapons." She cocked her head. "And where do you think all that miraculous technology that brought me back to life came from? It's not exactly off-the-shelf, is it?"

Jacob winced. It had seemed so easy to just leave Cerberus behind, but she evidently didn't see it that way at all. Not when she carried some of it along with her.

"So yes," she said, "I'm going to do this mission for Hackett, and for my reasons and my reasons alone. It'll be good to do something without putting anyone else in the line of fire. Without dragging all of this along with me." She waved a hand at the ship at large.

He nodded, not sure what he could add. He liked to think his reasons and motivations were clear-cut, easy to explain. But every time he talked to Shepard, everything got complicated. _I'm really one to talk about leaving things behind, not with those damn bugs still crawling around my head..._

"EDI, how far out are we?" Shepard said.

"Twelve minutes to FTL deceleration, Commander."

"Thank you." Shepard picked up her helmet and cycled the atmospheric seal. "Would you go back to Alliance, Jacob?"

It was his turn to stop and think. What surprised him more than anything was the realization that he'd never even considered the question since leaving. It seemed absurd. He'd never gone back to anything in his life- he'd always moved forward.

_Or... away._

"I shouldn't have gone on that last mission, Commander," he blurted.

Shepard stopped fussing with the helmet and regarded him. The tension in his chest spiked as the silence stretched out. She'd pushed him hard after the _Gernsback_... and he'd shut her down. Now, like any good fighter, she'd changed her tactics. This time she was waiting him out. He could see it, see the challenge in her steady gaze. _You started it, you finish it._

He straightened and unconsciously clasped his hands behind him at parade rest. "I wasn't fit for duty. I put the mission and personnel at risk."

"I'm guessing this isn't a medi-gel kind of problem."

"Don't think so, ma'am. Still... dragging the Collectors around."

She nodded. "When we're done here, I expect you to report to Doctor Chakwas, marine."

"Aye, ma'am."

Shepard holstered her pistol, then considered the racked heavy weapons. "Did you adjust the output on the Arc Projector?"

"Yeah, upped the amperage. You can set the charge time to compensate, but don't burn out the capacitor or else it's a lot of dead weight."

"Good. Batarians I can deal with, but I'll take this in case they invested in a mech."

"Giving up on stealth already?"

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Being quiet is not my strong point, so I think I'll assume the worst." She pulled the Arc Projector off the rack and clipped it to her back, then paced another circle to settle everything into place.

"Not looking forward to visiting the doc," he admitted.

Shepard's tone softened. "I know. But don't make the mistake I made- deal with it now."

"Yeah."

She didn't push this time, and the tightness started to ease. He smirked to himself. Of course, he'd been given an order, not a suggestion, so he didn't exactly have much choice. He suspected that was very much deliberate. And maybe, in a strange way, it would make it all easier. He suddenly wished someone had issued such an order after Eden Prime... or that he'd been in any frame of mind to obey it.

The door to the CIC cycled open to admit Garrus. He was looking over maps on his omni-tool, flipping through display panes with agitated swipes of his hand. "Shepard, I don't like this. Are you sure you can't take anyone with you?"

"I am. But that doesn't mean you can slack off, Garrus. I'm putting you in command while I'm groundside."

Jacob could almost hear the thump of the turian's brow-plates bouncing off the ceiling. "Me? In command?"

"Just 'till I get back, so don't go emptying my drawers just yet."

"Oh, well, I... yes, Commander."

Shepard patted him on the shoulder. "Stay on your toes. I'm predicting a tight rescue on this one."

The turian chuckled weakly, though perhaps there was a hint of relief laced in with it. "If it happened any other way, Shepard, I'd think you were starting to slack off."

* * *

><p>XXXXX<p>

* * *

><p>The first clue that something was in the wind was when the <em>Nara<em> diverted to the Citadel instead of Arcturus station. The second was when Kaidan received orders he would be debriefed in person. At the Citadel. All he could do was shrug when his marines asked him what was going on, then go back to trying to decide what to tell his superiors about the run-in with the Spectre. He hated having no answers.

The third was when he arrived to find the trunk containing his dress blues as well as non-critical personal odds and ends waiting for him at the Citadel. That's when the real nervousness set in, the feeling that the tension growing in the fault line under his feet was about to change the landscape. Then they let him stew in it for two days while the brass sorted out whatever bureaucratic delays there were that always seemed to crop up. Just when Kaidan was starting to think his off-the-record mission would truly go unrecorded, a new ship showed up at the Citadel.

The _Everest, _flagship of Fifth Fleet. Wickham speculated that it was a public show of force designed to attract attention to Alliance military readiness now that the Collector threat had apparently vanished and the batarians were acting up. There were more rumors coming out of the Terminus than he could keep up with, but news of the _Normandy SR2_ was scarce. After having been spotted on Illium, the ship seemed to have vanished.

In retrospect, the final clue should have been self-evident, but as he made his way through the Alliance Citadel cent-com toward his assigned debrief meeting, Kaidan still faintly hoped he was wrong. That hope died when the door opened. Standing behind a desk that more resembled a massive stone funeral bier than a workspace, Admiral Hackett himself waved the commander inside. Kaidan walked in and saluted.

Hackett nodded to him. "I'll keep this brief, Commander. I've read your report. Do you have anything to add?"

"No, sir. It's all there."

"So you're sure the sensitive data is dealt with for good?"

"Yes, sir. I wiped it myself. Goto's interest was the memories contained on the greybox, not the data her partner stole. I found no evidence that it was copied before deletion."

"Fine. You're to remove any reference to the... incident with the Spectre from your report, then submit it to Captain Silah. She's getting impatient."

"Yes, sir. May I ask why?"

"It's not relevant to the mission, nor, for whatever reason, Spectre Krannas' appraisal of your abilities in the field. Let my people look into it, otherwise, it didn't happen."

"I don't understand. What appraisal?"

"Commander Alenko, your name is being submitted to the Council for admission to Citadel Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."

Kaidan's mouth fell open.

A smirk crinkled Hackett's thick scar. "Get the shock out of your system now so you don't spend too much time gawking in front of Ambassador Udina. No need to give that weasel any more reason to grumble, he's having a hard enough time submitting anyone who served with Shepard as it is. You can see the man's blood pressure shoot up every time her name is mentioned."

The room seemed to have lost its texture, and Hackett loomed very large. "Sir, what... why me?"

"We need another Alliance Spectre, and _I_ need someone who's ready to investigate the potential Reaper threat without a lot of pissing and moaning. I'm trusting Anderson on this. He suggested it, and Rear Admiral Tennyson backed him up. Tennyson tells me you did some off-books work for him on a couple of occasions, though he declined to elaborate. Your experience is starting to pile up, Alenko. You're not the straight-arrow you used to be."

"No sir, I suppose I'm not," Kaidan managed.

"But you've still got your head screwed on straight. That's what I care about. You'll still be an Alliance officer, just like Shepard was."

_Is_, Kaidan's brain automatically corrected. "And... Commander Shepard? Was she reinstated as a Spectre?

Hackett held up a hand. "Don't remind the Council of associations that might put your candidacy at risk. Shepard is another matter. Leave her to me."

There were any number of implications riding on those words, all of which were a stark reminder of Tennyson's description of Hackett- _he knows how to play the game, and it means he doesn't show all of his cards to anyone._ The commander shifted his weight, trying to organize thoughts sent skittering in all directions. He couldn't decide if he was happy or appalled by the news.

"I'm sorry, Alenko," Hackett said, "but I'm not going to let you refuse this."

Kaidan swallowed hard. "No, sir."

"Good man. Go make sure your blues are in good order. We're going before the Council tomorrow morning."

"What kind of logistics am I going to be dealing with? Ship? Team?"

"That's being decided. Just keep your mouth shut for now. This is strictly classified until we get the Council's blessing."

"Aye, sir."

"Dismissed."

Kaidan was grateful his muscle-memory could execute a decent salute without too much intervention from his higher functions. The admiral returned it, and Kaidan turned on his heel and left, the lingering daze flowing along with him.

_Spectre. They can't be serious._

The new reality hadn't set in much further by the time he'd made it past the security checkpoints out to the Presidium. The entire trip consisted of a lengthy internal argument between the side of him loudly proclaiming the collective insanity of the entirety of Alliance command, and the other, which kept pointing out that he was already up to his neck in covert fire-extinguishing anyway, so why not get a new badge and some danger pay out of it?

For a while, he just walked, letting the sights and sounds of the Presidium wash over him. Some time had passed before a concerted effort on the part of his comm system finally prodded him into realizing he'd received a message. He opened his omni-tool. It had just arrived, but the sender field was suspiciously blank. Kaidan raked a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure he could handle any more shocks at the moment. But curiosity won out, and he opened it. It turned out to be plaintext, and quite short.

_Spectre Krannas has been seen in the vicinity of the Emporium as of 13:05:27. Ask her about Quadim, that should get her talking._

The message was signed the ever-informative _A friend._

"Are you serious," Kaidan muttered, staring at the amber holopane. Were Hackett's 'people' that fast? He closed the display and leaned against the planter next to him. A pair of salarians walked by, punctuating their conversation with emphatic gestures. For a moment, Kaidan was faintly resentful. Why was everyone else allowed to be so oblivious that an argument about omni-gel flow variance was the most intense part of their week? He could hear Shepard's voice in his head, picture the exchange with perfect clarity; he'd suggest this might be a trap, and she'd say yeah, it probably is_. _Then she'd go anyway. Every single time.

_Because that's what a goddamn _Spectre_ does. _

He indulged himself in a long-suffering sigh and headed to the transit station. It was a short, tense ride to the Presidium's shopping quarter, a place he hadn't set foot in since before Saren's attack. Once there, he scanned the crowds. Though it was less densely populated than the Wards, there was no shortage of turians. Time ticked away. Kaidan started to wonder if he was going to fall into the embarrassment of missing his mark because of the old saw of how hard it was for humans to tell the aliens apart.

But no. Perhaps because he'd had such a good look at her face while she had her gun up his nose, Krannas was impossible to miss when she marched out of the Emporium, another turian in tow.

_I could still walk away._ But then the Spectre would disappear somewhere back into the galaxy, and Kaidan would never know. And never know if she'd show up again one day, once again intent on his life. He squared his shoulders and walked toward her.

Krannas was dressed as she'd been on her ship, in the dark formal-looking suit. Any doubt that he'd identified the wrong pair evaporated when she noticed him coming and stopped in her tracks. Beside her stood a male turian in a dark blue suit, the points of his fringe poking out from under a long-sided hat. One of the points was missing. Her second, Kaidan realized. The former criminal, Tarlo. He glowered at the human from under his plated brows, mandibles low enough to show his teeth.

"Spectre," Kaidan said. "I need to ask you about Quadim."

Krannas' eyes bulged and her mandibles flared wide. "Where did you hear that name?"

A new rush of nervousness flushed up Kaidan's back. He folded his arms and said nothing, hoping she'd fill in the answer in her own mind. _Let's see if I can play this game._

"Iridan," Tarlo rumbled, "vater arh volanas."

That odd language again. Kaidan wondered idly if it was an actual language, obscure enough to be left out of his translator's extensive library, or a kind of code they specifically invented to foil those selfsame translators. Tarlo shifted, as if he intended to move toward Kaidan, but Krannas stopped him with a raised arm and a sharp word.

"No," she said, changing languages. "Perhaps... perhaps it is time."

"Are you sure?" her second asked.

Her head cocked slightly. "No, but all orbits come around."

"Hn."

"You have met with your admiral?" Krannas asked Kaidan.

"Yes."

"Then you want answers to your questions."

Kaidan nodded, casting a wary glance at Tarlo. The turian glared back as if he could peel off the human's skin by sheer will alone.

"Come then." Without further ado, she turned on her heel and marched away, forcing Kaidan to trot along to catch up. Tarlo grumbled something, but stayed where he was.

Krannas didn't seem to be armed, though Kaidan was sure her high collar concealed an amp. He would have to rely on the fact they were in public to deter whatever ulterior motives she might still harbor. She didn't go far, much to Kaidan's relief. He followed the Spectre out of the plaza and into one of the many ornamental gardens that abutted the central water reservoirs of the Presidium. High hedges and a few trees cut off the view to the main promenade, creating a small oasis.

"Do not think too ill of Tarlo," she said, turning. "Life has been harsh to him. Now tell me, what have you been told of Quadim?"

"No more games," Kaidan said. "You first."

The Spectre clasped her arms behind her back and wrinkled her nose. "Nothing I told you was an... untruth."

_Untruth_. The way she growled out the word reminded him of just what most turians thought of lies. "But you can play games just the same," he challenged. "Why did you want me dead?"

She looked away.

"Is it humans you don't like?" Kaidan pressed. "Or human Spectres?"

"Nothing so base," she sniffed. "No, it is _you_ I hate. And I hated you long before I even knew who _you_ were." She stooped and lifted the hem of her pant leg. Strapped just below the spur was a sheathed knife, which she unlatched and pulled free.

Kaidan tensed, watching her carefully. Her movements were deliberate as she straightened, rolling the sheath over in her fingers. The tension changed to alarm, a slippery feeling sliding along his nerves, prickling dark energy static. At first, he couldn't figure out where the sharp feeling came from.

"I see you recognize it," she murmured. The click of the knife coming free from the sheath rang in the quiet air. The teeth along the back made a particular sussuration as they slid along the edge of the sheath, a sound that sent his memory tumbling back some twenty years.

"Is that the same..." he said.

"Yes." She turned it over slowly, letting the light travel down the surface. It was nicked from use, but the edge was perfectly honed. Just as it had been when Vyrnnus had thrust it in Kaidan's face.

"He was... your brother?" Kaidan guessed.

"Closer than blood, _human_." Her eyes flicked up, meeting his over the burnished edge. "We four lived and breathed as one, from the moment we could tolerate an amp. A single spirit in four bodies. We were Cabali."

A cabal. He knew so little about the turians' biotic traditions, only as much as any human knew. "I didn't think a cabal ever split," he ventured. It was a guess, but he hoped a reasonable one.

"The First Contact War demanded different paths. Artal Vyrnnus was the eldest of us, and he was awarded command of a dreadnought. A great honor. But he was... different after Armistice. The Quadim mission was the last our Cabal fulfilled as one spirit." She regarded him with a narrow stare. "What... do you know?"

Kaidan folded his arms. "I just want answers."

"A game indeed," she said, mandibles flexing. "Very well. After Quadim, Artal left, and would no longer answer us. This," she twisted the knife in a sinuous pattern, tracing a series of cuts into an invisible enemy, "was all that came back to me from human space. Artal's body was taken by the Hierarchy. They said he was given the rites, but that's all I knew of it." The flow stopped with the knife outstretched, then she stepped back into a tight stance, blade hugging her forearm.

"I served for years without knowing the truth," she said. "Life continued. Then I was made a Spectre, and certain avenues of information opened up to me. The Shadow Broker likes to keep lines open to the Spectres."

"You must be frequent customers," Kaidan said.

She gave a soft hiss. "The wise are not. Three years I served before the hole grew too deep and I gave in to the temptation. The Broker was more than amenable. You will find, as a Spectre, the first request is negotiable. In my case, I promised a repayment in kind when I procured intelligence the Broker would find valuable. At long last, I had Artal's killer's name. At first, I was content with a name alone. It was enough. I could not abandon my duties, so I bided my time.

"My patience was rewarded. The human called Donovan Hock grew too powerful, too successful for the Citadel to abide any longer. His weapon sales were destabilizing the Azatean conflict. He was out of reach of your Alliance, and so it was decided that Special Tactics and Reconnaissance would... deal with him. I was given the mission." Her head turned, meeting his gaze. The light coming off the lake made her eyes very green. "It was all the justification I needed to to request specific help from Alliance ranks."

"Human help for a human problem. And someone who had worked with a Spectre before."

"Rather elegant, and not a whisper of suspicion."

"If I caught a stray round on the battlefield, it would be great deal easier to explain away than an assassination."

Krannas made a sound that might have been amusement. "As I began my investigations, the Shadow Broker contacted me and advised me that Hock had perhaps acquired a valuable piece of intel- data that would serve as a repayment for my debt. The Broker was growing impatient, so I agreed. It seemed to me that all the plates were fitting together."

"You had your chance, but you didn't take it. What happened?"

She looked out over the lake, rolling the knife hilt in her hand. "I... In the years since my Cabali's death, I imagined his killer in all kinds of ways. I knew you were one of the ones designated L2. I imagined you were one of those wretched creatures mewling for compensation, taking hostages and killing for sport. A failure. A stain begging to be wiped away. Surely, I thought, the galaxy would be made better without you in it."

Kaidan clenched his jaw against the hackles rising, the old L2 argument begging to be fired up. A distraction. She wouldn't care about a biotics history lesson. _Stay on target, marine._

"Even when I found out you were a soldier, I thought surely your spirit would be tainted with Artal's death. It would show. But you came onto my ship an officer, decorated by your military. One of those that fought Saren Arterius himself."

"Not some criminal."

"I hesitated. But after we found Goto, I was resolved. I told myself I would let Goto lead us to the greybox, then kill you. It would all work so perfectly, and I would be free... and Artal Vyrnnus too."

She trailed off, her thumb running idly across the back edge of the blade as she stared across the water. The Presidium's artificial day had no central source of light, so the water reflected the projected blue of the sky ring above. It was pretty enough, but it didn't match the glitter of an actual sun.

"It was those damnable files," she hissed finally. "After we found Goto, the roots of doubt had set in. They ate at me. So I read the files the Shadow Broker had given me more thoroughly. You already know what they contained.

"The First Contact War was a shock not just to the Hierarchy, but to all those who served. We styled ourselves the strength of the Citadel, and yet this new species, headstrong and foolish, drew so much blood. When next I heard about Artal after Armistice, I was told he was working with humans. This made no sense to me. But it does now, oh yes. It was all there, in those cursed files!" Krannas lashed out suddenly, making Kaidan jump. The knife sang, caught a flash of reflected light, and buried itself halfway into the trunk of the ornamental tree ten feet from him. A smattering of small blue-green leaves trailed out of the tree's shuddering crown.

"And there it is! The great Artal Vyrnnus, enraged by his failures, goes among his enemy. And how does he choose to vent his rage?" Krannas flung up her hands. "By terrorizing alien children! I did not want this truth._ Children!_ Now, what would _you _call that?"

Kaidan met the turian's seething gaze as steadily as he could manage. "I'd call it pathetic," he said.

"Pathetic!" Krannas snarled. "Yes, pathetic. A good word, it has the bitter sting of truth to it! Tell me, Commander Alenko, what is the worse thing- to lose a brother, or to know that the universe is _better_ for his loss?"

"I... don't think I have an answer for that."

She walked over to the edge of the pool and peered into the water. To Kaidan's surprise, she leaned over and plunged her arm in up above the elbow, then withdrew it, dripping. Between her fingers was a small stone, glittering with silvery specks. Droplets of water pattered into the grass at her feet as she peered at it.

"I won't lie," Kaidan said, "I hated him. But I didn't want it to happen the way it did."

"He deserved it," she hissed. "And you... You rely too much on those below and above you, and your biotics are unfocused, without claws. But none of these things make you deserving of death."

She lifted the stone up to the light. After a moment, she shook her head and spoke softly, "I know, irrevocably, that Citadel space is made better because my Cabali's killer yet lives. I can hate you for it, but it is a plain truth. I... will not be ruled by hate as he was."

Kaidan let the silence stretch out. There was a reflexive urge to apologize floating around the back of his head, but it seemed trite, and above all dishonest. He'd never imagined a moment like this happening, nor that it could resolve itself like it now seemed like it would- with a harsh kind of acceptance.

"Why did you submit an evaluation of me to the Alliance?" he asked at length. "Were you testing me?"

She shook her head. "No. Your ambassador and your Alliance learned their lessons well with Anderson and Shepard. The notion of your candidacy was not put to me until after the mission against Hock. They simply seized an opportunity I created. If the mission had gone poorly, then nothing more would be said of it. But it didn't, and their case is already made for them when they present your candidacy to the Council. Cunning, really. Unconventional, but nothing about human participation in Council affairs has been. Your species has a flair for ignoring tradition."

"But... everything with Vyrnnus..."

She waved a hand. "I was asked to offer an evaluation of your skills. I did so. You did not run to your Alliance for help when others would have, instead you found a way to locate those that stole the greybox, and fought on despite even the loss of your biotics. This is what was important. Personal matters between us are irrelevant."

"I don't know what to say."

"Save your thanks. I have not made your life easier, nor longer."

"You're not the first person to observe that Spectres don't die of old age."

"They prefer it that way."

"Who?"

"The Council. After a career of service, it is preferred that we... martyr ourselves to the cause. Always, this has been."

"Because they know too much?"

She shrugged. "In part. As time goes by, it becomes more and more tempting to... take things into your own hands. Make decisions that are not your place to make. _Fix_ things that are not your place to fix. Some serve many, many years before such thoughts take hold. Others, not so long."

"That sounds like the trap Saren Arterius fell into."

"Resistance to such thoughts ends up defining a Spectre's service, Commander Alenko." Her gaze bored into his. "More than your marksmanship, your biotic strength, your ability to solve problems, any of these. Indeed, for all his strengths, Spectre Arterius failed in this most vital thing. Tell me, is it true? What Commander Shepard said about Sovereign?"

"Would you believe me?"

Her eyes narrowed for a few speculative seconds. "I would."

"It's all true. And the invasion may be a lot closer to actually happening than any of us think. The Collectors... were most likely part of it."

Krannas lowered her head. "I feared that answer."

"I think the Council fears it too."

"Then they are worse fools than I thought. They will doom us if they do not face it."

He smirked. "Maybe you'll have your revenge after all, if I'm to be a Spectre."

Krannas made a hissing cough, the laugh of a turian making no attempt to mimic the human sound. "Perhaps," she purred. "Now, you have your answers. I will... leave you."

"What about that?" He pointed to the knife still sticking out of the tree.

The Spectre stepped toward it, then stopped, rubbing the pebble vigorously between her fingers. "Do what you will with it," she said finally, tossing the sheath to the ground. "Keep it, destroy it, I care not. I no longer want the weight." She backed up several steps, as if afraid the knife would leap out of its own accord, then whirled on her heel. As she passed Kaidan, her predator's head turned just enough to catch his gaze. "Do not rush to meet my revenge... Spectre. If Spectre Shepard is correct, you will be needed."

She left without another word. Chewing his lip, Kaidan turned and stared hard at the knife in the tree. He wasn't sure he even wanted to touch it, but he couldn't just leave it there. He walked over and yanked it free, then scooped up the sheath. It seemed very light, but cold. The alloy did strange things to the light that hit its surface, and it made gooseflesh prickle along his arms. He jammed it back into the sheath. A strange blend of emotions swirled in his head. Once again, he wasn't really sure how to feel. _I no longer want the weight. _He bounced the knife up and down, considering. Then walked back out to the promenade.

Through the passing crowds, on the other side of the walkway, two figures standing still caught his eye. It was the Spectre and her second. They were talking, heads close together, and to Kaidan's surprise, their hands were clasped between them. As he watched, Krannas leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. Then they parted and headed on their way.

_More than just a second, it seems._ Then again, turians didn't have rules against such things. Tarlo's behavior made a sudden sense- she must have confided all this to him- to share the weight she shook his head and kept walking. Within a few minutes, he'd spotted who he was looking for- a bored-looking human C-Sec officer standing guard by an intersection. He approached and without preamble, thrust the sheathed knife toward her.

"Officer," he said. "C-Sec has weapon dump protocols, right?"

"Yes, I- We do, but..." she sputtered, taking it. She looked him up and down, taking in his uniform and staring a little long at his face. "Sir! Is this evidence?"

He almost laughed. "No." It was half a lie, but the crime was two decades old. "Call it contraband if you like. Just make sure it gets destroyed, will you?"

"Yes sir! It'll be gelled before shift change, sir!" She saluted, too crisp to come from a civilian. She'd served. She probably recognized him.

"Thank you, officer." He returned the salute, then walked away.

The breath Kaidan hadn't realized he was holding came out in a rush. A risk had paid off again. But how long would his luck hold? He rubbed at his temple. He'd always preferred the cautious approach. It seemed like the single stone that had started rolling when he'd accepted a posting on this new ship, the _Normandy_, had three years later grown into an avalanche carrying him along. There was no stopping it. Being a Spectre would demand more risks, especially if it meant investigating leads on the Reapers. There would never be, he realized, anything like a standard mission for him again. His future was now more than ever paved with wall-to-wall uncertainty. Secrets, politics, gray morals- a place where rules weren't the solid foundation anymore.

_How in hell am I supposed to do this? _He was starting to feel light headed. Doubts crawled over doubts until the upward sweeping curve of the Presidium threatened to throw off his balance. He spotted a bench through the passing pedestrians and headed for it.

Safely planted out of the way, a creeping familiarity suddenly hit him. He sat across the from the plinth that had once housed the Relay 'statue' that had catapulted the Mako halfway across the galaxy. He leaned back and tried to remember what it had looked like when they'd crawled out of the beached Mako. He clearly remembered his ears popping when the door had opened, such was the air pressure difference between Ilos and the Citadel. That, and the burning smell and reddish light scalding the silver and blue Presidium.

He popped open his omni-tool and weeded through the files until he found the encrypted partition that contained the reconstruction of Shepard's music and assorted data. He wasn't sure what he was expecting out of it, nor even sure if Shepard hadn't had a backup of her own somewhere. He knew, deep down, that even against a mountain of fears, the little flame of hope was still stubbornly burning.

More than what was contained in the files, he could honor what Shepard was fighting for by... facing this. She must have felt all these things too. As his nerves started to settle, he was suddenly relieved he'd gotten rid of Vyrnnus' knife before he'd given himself the opportunity to rationalize keeping it. The files were weightless, but they somehow weighed more than any length of alloy steel.

_I'm carrying enough._

* * *

><p><em>END<em>

* * *

><p><em>And so begins the countdown to the endgame.<br>_

_Beta services once again provided by Lossefalme, who is due much credit for her willingness to come along with me after all this time and swat me on the wrist for passive verb usage._

___Thank you for reading and commenting!_ __


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